


You're the Riddle of the Century

by stayingputwouldbeablunder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Derek owns a bookstore, F/M, Families of Choice, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Misunderstandings, Pining, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, more like, painfully slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 45,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayingputwouldbeablunder/pseuds/stayingputwouldbeablunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Okay,” Stiles says, drawing out the <em>y</em>. “Well, I’ve gotta go, Derek. Plenty more clueless individuals like yourself waiting to learn how to operate the majestic electronic device you hold in your hands.”</p><p>“I’m not holding it.” Derek doesn’t know why he does it but he waggles his fingers in front of the camera; the tablet is propped up against his legs. “See?”</p><p>Stiles rolls his eyes, smiling. “Goodbye, Derek. And thanks for calling Amazon today. Catch you on the flip side.”</p><p>“Bye, Stiles.”</p><p>Oh shit.</p><p>In which Stiles is a tech advisor for Amazon and Derek really <strike>loves</strike>hates his Kindle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made [this](http://stayingputwouldbeablunder.tumblr.com/post/66927708762/i-really-need-a-fic-based-off-this-commercial-in) post on my tumblr back in November (?) and thought ' _oh yeah, I can totally pull this off in 8k and a couple of weekends._ ' We can all see how well that plan worked out considering this thing is almost six times the length I planned and took me three months. 
> 
> So, important stuff. The first thing that Amazon answers on their [Mayday and Amazon Assist page](http://www.amazon.com/gp/help/customer/display.html?nodeId=201399220) is that tech advisors can’t see you. Well, as this _is_ an AU, we’ll be ignoring that. Keep in mind, too, that I don’t own a Kindle, so I’m kind of winging it here with some research and the actual Kindle Fire HDX commercials.
> 
> Story wise, the fire still happened and the Hales are still from Beacon Hills but haven’t lived there since. The betas, Lydia, and Jackson are not from BH. I screwed with the ages a little but not enough it makes a huge difference. Oh, and I made Derek’s birthday in October prior to mtv saying his bday is Christmas and couldn’t change it because I had already built a timeline around that. Also went a different route with Claudia's cause of death, as I wrote that part before whatever episode of 3b it was revealed in.
> 
> Honestly, this probably needs one more good read through, but it's been in my ao3 drafts for exactly thirty days. I'll go through another round of edits next week if I have time, but for now this'll have to do.
> 
> Unbeta’d, shh, don’t tell.
> 
> 3/25/14: Finally got around to editing this beast. 
> 
> 8/15/14: Last update, I swear. I fixed the thing that was bothering people because it was bothering me too. If you don't know what I'm talking about, it doesn't really change anything. If you do, I hope you think it flows a little better now?

Cora is wearing the same shit eating grin she had the night she told Derek she was spending her entire summer break with him in Seattle. That had gone over spectacularly: they pissed each off to no end until Laura eventually flew in from New York and settled their dispute. Derek loves his sisters, he does, but this has gone too far.

“Take it back.”

“I bought it off Amazon, I can’t just take it back.”

“Then send it back, whatever. Get your money back. Buy that _Breaking Bad_ dvd set you were going on about last week.” Derek’s eyes flicker to the open cardboard box in the middle of the table, _amazon_ printed in bold across the side. “I don’t want it.”

“It’s a birthday gift, Der. As in you have to accept it. Those are the rules.”

“We made those rules when you were in elementary school.”

“And until we come up with better rules, they stand. Peter and Laura follow them.”

“You know Peter returns every gift we send him, Cor.”

Cora waves a hand at him and leans back in her seat. The booth they are sitting at is wide enough she’s tucked herself into the corner, back flat against the wall. Derek sighs and pokes the corner of the box.

“Don’t you need it more than I do? You always complain about your textbooks being so expensive.”

“That’s why I sold them back to Amazon. They gave me enough credit that it covered your shiny new Kindle and a book for me.” Derek rolls his eyes as his sister catches her own joke. “I love you bro, but your spare room is more library than bedroom. I had to move two crates of books off the bed before I went to sleep last night.”

Derek owns a bookstore, he’s _allowed_ to own a lot of books. He’s made this point several times to every remaining member of his family. And while they all admire him for sticking with it despite society’s movement towards big bookstores like Barnes  & Noble and the ever-growing threat of digital books, not a single one of them is above their running jokes of Derek wanting to create a library worth rivaling the one in _Beauty and the Beast_.

“We’re reorganizing the shop and ran out of room in the back. I didn’t really have a choice.”

Cora sighs and pushes at the cold mound of mashed potatoes on her plate. “You’ve known I was coming to visit you for your birthday since August. Two months, Derek.”

“You came a day early.”

“I didn’t feel like going to seminar, sue me.” The waitress comes by to refill their drinks and places the bill face down on the table. Cora snatches it before Derek can, grinning triumphantly. “Now open your Kindle so I can play with it.”

Laura would have known better than to get him the one thing that threatens his business on a daily basis. Derek refuses to sell them in the shop, despite his lawyer’s insistence he at least offer them as an option. ‘ _They’re the future, Hale. Get some in the shop with next time you bulk order from that one vendor with the green bubble wrap_ ’ she had told him last week on the phone.

Cora is busy signing the bill as Derek eyes the Kindle suspiciously. Peter sent him a crate of exotic wines from a local winery near where he lives in Florida. Laura mailed him a certificate of donation in Derek’s name to wolf sanctuary north of New York City. His older sister gets him, because-

“Laura is the one who recommended that model, you know. She has the older version and wants you be the guinea pig for whether she should upgrade or not.”

Laura is the _devil_. 

“See if you can get your money back,” Derek huffs, shoving the box across the table.

Cora mumbles something under her breath and picks her phone up to start tapping at it furiously; ten to one she’s texting their older sister. Derek slides out of the booth, motioning for Cora to follow. She does, expression pinched and Amazon box beneath her arm.

Derek’s cellphone buzzes in his pocket when they are almost back at his apartment. ' _Derek Rhyley Hale, you accept that gift. Cora spent all of her textbook buy back money and borrowed some from Peter. I don’t care if you don’t want to use it._ ' He stops in front of his building before heading inside, Cora tilting her head to read his phone.

' _Fine_ ' is all the he replies to Laura and Cora jumps on his back in excitement, hitting him in the head with the Amazon box. Derek is willing to deal with the raised bump behind his ear in hopes the tablet breaks. Of course, it doesn’t.

\- - -

One week turns into two, then three, then four. When the Kindle begins gathering dust, Derek debates hiding it behind one of the rows of books lining the bookshelves in his room. Cora won’t be visiting until next semester and surely he’ll forget about it by then.

His friends find it hilarious. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd come by one night after work and fiddle around with it while Derek makes them dinner, laughing about the irony of it all. Derek sometimes regrets hiring them during times like that. Back when he had just opened the shop, there weren’t a lot of people looking to work at a small bookstore. Isaac only happened to wander in one day, hood pulled over his head. Derek originally thought he was going to try and rob him but in the end he realized the then sixteen year old was hiding a fresh black eye and split lip.

Erica and Boyd came in soon after and for the past seven years it’s been the four of them. Erica calls them a pack, like they’re wolves or something, and Laura finds it fitting considering the name of Derek’s bookstore is _The Wolf and The Crane_. Then again, Laura was the one who got to pick the name; she was the largest investor behind Derek and goaded him into letting her name the shop. At first, Derek had to explain its meaning to customers; even Erica and Isaac hadn’t understood it. But Boyd, quiet, sharp minded and sarcastic Boyd, explained it his fellow coworkers: ‘ _just like the crane trusted the wolf in Aesop’s fable, our customers place a lot of trust in us to recommend good books_.’

Derek started Boyd at fifty cents higher than the other two teenagers. Cora complained that it wasn’t fair to Isaac and eventually Derek caved and gave them raises as well.

One day Derek will stop letting his sisters boss him around. But today is not that day.

“Use the tablet, Derek.”

“How do you know I haven’t been?” Derek frowns, setting his phone down on the kitchen table as Laura snorts over the speaker. “I could be using it right now.”

“You’re going to have to try a little harder if you want me to believe that lie. Besides, your pseudo fam keeps me informed on your non-usage of the tablet.”

“You shouldn’t listen to Erica, Laura.” Derek sighs, entering this week’s sales into the Excel spreadsheet open on his laptop. “Yesterday she asked Boyd to go get a copy of a book for her from the back because her foot hurt.”

“And?”

“She was painting her nails.”

Laura crows over the phone, muffled laughter following. “She always was my favorite, Derek. Girl’s got a feisty attitude.”

“If you two ever meet in person it will signal the apocalypse.” The laughter on Laura’s end doubles and Derek smiles at the image of his sister’s face going red the way it always does. “When Cora came to visit a couple of months ago, I thought they would hate each other. They almost clawed each other's eyes out in a great debate over whether DC or Marvel had a better franchise.”

“Cora’s always loved RDJ.” There’s a link there that Laura’s clearly missing but Derek doesn’t correct her. “You should call her. She said you haven’t in a couple of weeks and she’s _dying_ to hear how you and Sir Leopardus are getting on.”

“Who?”

“The Kindle, bro.”

“Oh.” Excel finishes the calculations Derek has typed into a cell, number negative. “Fuck.”

“What?”

Derek shuts his laptop, scooting it away to lay his head down on the table. “Nothing.”

“Bad liar,” Laura reminds him.

“Don’t care.”

Despite the rush between Black Friday and Christmas, sales for November weren’t nearly as high as he hoped they would be. With the adjustments to the shop, dropping the prices of some of the newest bestsellers to make them competitive, and the bonuses for his employees, Derek’s out roughly three grand.

It’s not as bad as it could have been, nor is it as bad as it was last year. Even if it were ten thousand, Derek would still have the funds to keep them afloat. His fourth of the life insurance from his family’s deaths is enough that Derek really doesn’t _need_ to work. He could close the shop tomorrow and be fine for years; he runs the bookshop because he _loves_ it. He loves the way the books smell, the feel of crisp pages beneath his fingers, the look someone gets when a cover catches their eye.

“Use the tablet, Derek. And call Peter. He wants to know what you want for Christmas.”

\- - -

By the time Derek actually does get around to using the tablet, it’s right after New Year’s. It’s a Saturday afternoon and the week has been hell. One of his vendors has had all of their young adult books on back order for ten days and the customers waiting for their requests to be filled are only so patient. His lawyer keeps calling him, asking for the name of the representative that handles his orders. Derek doesn’t give it to her because no one deserves the wrath of one Lydia Martin this early on a Saturday morning.

Today is Derek’s day off, despite the weekly spike in sales. Boyd’s a good manager when Derek needs a break, runs the shop just as efficiently as Derek does. Plus it helps that one smile from Boyd makes the teenage girls who wander in from the coffee shop next door weak in the knees and willing to buy anything he suggests.

Times are tough, okay. So what if Erica wears low tops on Friday nights. And if Isaac flirts a little too much when the afternoons stretch on, so be it. There are books to be sold.

Derek finds the tablet right where he left it last month: between a battered copy of _Brave New World_ and _No Country for Old Men_. He supposes he should be more organized when it comes to his own books but the bookshelf both are located on contains his favorites. That, he justifies to himself, is enough reason to keep them in whatever order he wants to.

After a quick wipe of the screen with the back of his sweater’s sleeve, Derek unlocks the Kindle. A dozen different icons float above a busy background, the default changed to a photo of the sun setting over Seattle that Cora took at the Space Needle when she came to visit for Derek’s birthday. She also connected it to the wireless router, auspiciously named _Ococolobus_.

Sometimes Derek wonders where his younger sister developed a love for big cats when their mother decorated their house with wolves.

Not recognizing half of the icons, Derek starts flicking through them, never lingering for more than a few seconds. He’s half convinced that if he stays on the tablet any longer, Cora will probably Skype him. The screen freezes for a moment when Derek accidentally hits a button towards the top and a small box appears in the corner. He starts tapping at other parts of the screen when a person appears in the box.

Shit.

"Thank you for hitting the Mayday button, how may I help you?" the kid on the screen says. The name at the bottom is combination of letters Derek can’t even begin to pronounce and the kid repeats his question. "Sir?"

"Who are you?"

"Stiles,” he replies incredulously. It’s not Derek’s fault he doesn’t know who he is. He doesn’t even know why he’s magically appeared on the screen. “How may I help you?"

Instead of answering the question like a normal person, Derek says "that is not what the box with your name says."

"Really?" The kid, Stiles, breaks contact from his camera, looking down at something before mouthing _fuck_. "Dude, I told them when they hired me I didn’t want to use my real name."

"Don’t call me dude."

"Then what would you like me to call you, _sir_?” Stiles says, smirking as he emphasizes the title.

"Derek."

The kid grins, biting the end of something, a pen maybe, between his teeth. "Okay then, _Derek_. How may I assist you today?"

"Someone got me this thing and I have no idea what to do with it."

"Alrighty, well how about I walk you through some functions? Tell me if you get lost or I go off on a tangent. I keep doing that according to my supervisor. The guy is _crazy_. He keeps giving us speeches at the beginning of our shift. Today, I kid you not, he quoted the _entire_ speech Justin Long delivers at the end of _Accepted_.”

"Stiles."

"Yeah?" Stiles’ eyes meet Derek’s and Derek sighs.

"Tangents."

"Oh, heh, sorry." Derek tilts the tablet down a little, sinking back against the armrest of his couch, grinning absently at the fact Stiles is flushing with embarrassment. “So, walkthrough. Uh, well, we’ll start with the actual purpose of owning a Kindle: to read books.”

“Pass.”

Stiles’ eyebrow raises and Derek frowns. “If you’re not going to read books, why do you own an e-reader?”

“I already said someone gave it to me as a gift. They wouldn’t return it and I didn’t know how to do it for her.”

“Sounds like your need a new girlfriend.” Stiles’ eyes focus towards his camera and scribbles begin appearing on the tablet’s screen. “For my sake and the fact I’m on shift for another six hours, let’s pretend you want to know how to purchase books. ‘Kay? ‘Kay.”

“You sure are bossy for being in customer service.”

Stiles smirks and scribbles the word _hush_ across the screen. The internet browser opens, default set to the Amazon homepage. Derek watches Stiles entering something, listening to him talk about this and that. He pauses every few minutes to make sure Derek is following. In response to every mumbled yes, he grins wide, like he’s proud of eliciting communication.

All the while Derek’s eyes keep flicking back and forth between the tablet’s changing screens and watching the kid helping him. It’s not his fault he can’t stop staring at Stiles’ moles or the way he moves his hands when he talks or how he keeps sticking his stylus between his teeth.

"Will that be all today, Derek?" Stiles asks, having spent the past hour walking the man through everything.

"Yeah." Derek pauses before ending the call, hesitant when he asks "If I need help again, you’ll be the one who answers?"

Stiles grins with his whole body, at least what Derek can see of it. “You bet, buddy. Hit the Mayday button and if I’m working, you’ll get me.”

“Okay.” Derek opens his mouth, not wanting this to be the last he sees of Stiles, and the kid’s expression goes concerned.

“What? Do I have something on my face? I know it’s not pen because Scott took all of mine away from me last week and I’m stuck with pencils.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, drawing out the _y_. “Well, I’ve gotta go, Derek. Plenty more clueless individuals like yourself waiting to learn how to operate the majestic electronic device you hold in your hands.”

“I’m not holding it.” Derek doesn’t know why he does it but he waggles his fingers in front of the camera; the tablet is propped up against his legs. “See?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, smiling. “Goodbye, Derek. And thanks for calling Amazon today. Catch you on the flip side.”

“Bye, Stiles.”

Oh shit.

\- - -

A few days later, Isaac comes over for dinner, bringing with him everything they need to cook. It’s tradition, has been for years, that they eat dinner together every Thursday. Last week was the first exception in months because Boyd needed Isaac to cover his shift so he could celebrate his anniversary with Erica.

After Isaac stumbled into the bookshop when he was sixteen, Derek took to him almost immediately. He had seen kids, lots of the them in New York, that lived in shit conditions with parents that didn’t care. Isaac said his father was just going through a rough time, that his older brother was fighting in a war he didn’t agree with. Laura told Derek it was his responsibility to report him to child services.

Mr. Lahey came to the shop one afternoon with a white knuckled grip around Isaac’s forearm, demanding to know why Derek was listening to his son’s lies. Isaac had just looked compliant, like he was so use to the abuse that it was just easier to ignore it. Derek can’t remember what he said in response but it ended with his fist against Isaac’s father’s jaw and a subsequent visit to the local police office.

Derek filed for guardianship of Isaac the next day. Peter told him he was crazy: he knew from experience the amount of responsibility it required to raise someone else’s child. After the fire, after _she_ took their family away, Peter became pseudo parent to his nephew and two nieces. ‘ _You’ve only known this kid for a month, Derek. Think about how this will affect your future._ ’

During the approval period, Isaac stayed in a foster home but came to see Derek at the shop every day. Derek didn’t want to get his hopes up - foster care wasn’t the best alternative but it was the only way to keep Isaac out of his father’s home - but he moved into a larger apartment. He considered selling the Camaro but ultimately decided against it. He did, however, open up a savings account for Isaac and placed enough money in it that even if the guardianship paperwork didn’t go through, the kid would have enough funds to escape Seattle.

It never came to that though. The court decided Derek was a fit guardian and appointed him in charge of Isaac’s life until he turned eighteen. Derek half expected Isaac to bolt the moment that day came, but five years later he’s still here. Isaac is like the brother Derek never knew he missed out on.

“Sir Leopardus! Fancy seeing you out of hiding,” the curly haired boy says playfully.

And by brother Derek means pain in his ass, nosy brat.

“Don’t call him that.”

“What should I call him then? Cora had him registered and everything.”

Derek halts from cutting up mushrooms and glances over his shoulder where Isaac is sprinkling salt into a pot of boiling water. “You can register them?”

“I guess,” Isaac replies with a shrug. “She registered Coryi. She has a certificate and everything.”

“Isn’t Coryi your Roomba?”

“Yep.” Isaac chuckles to himself, dumping half a box of farfalle pasta into the pot. “You have weird sisters.”

“Laura isn’t nearly as odd.”

“Tell that to the four hours of my life that I lost last summer when she wanted to go on one of the ferries that go to Bremerton. Fucking thing broke down and Laura spent half the time berating the electricians because they were fixing the wrong part of the boat.”

Derek remembers. Isaac called him in a panic because he was stuck in the middle of Puget Sound. Small spaces didn’t scare him like they used to but general entrapment anywhere still did. He had to talk his friend down from a panic attack over the phone, urging him to breathe.

“What is your Kindle doing out, anyway?”

Derek gathers the mushrooms he’s been chopping and drops them in a pan next to the pasta. “Laura yelled at me,” he says, not having to look up to know Isaac is biting his lip to keep from laughing. “She’s under the impression I want to read books on a screen.”

“It is convenient.”

“Don’t start. I already have the rest of my family on my case plus Lydia.”

“Aw, I’m family?” Isaac snickers and Derek “accidentally” stomps on his toes, spooning some chopped garlic into the pan with the mushrooms. “How is Lydia, by the way?”

Derek stirs the pasta, only glancing over once. Isaac is wearing the grin he developed when he first met Cora. While that ship never sailed - thank god, because Derek would have killed Isaac for defiling his baby sister - the kid’s been hung up on his lawyer for months. ‘ _She’s a radiant princess, Derek_ ’ Isaac had said the first time Lydia dropped by the bookstore to have Derek sign something.

“No.”

“I didn’t even ask-”

“The answer is still no. You’re not getting her number.”

“Why?” Isaac whines, slumping down in one of the vacant kitchen chairs. “She’s my type.”

“Your type is anyone with long hair who has a strong personality. By definition, that’s pretty much half the city.” Isaac doesn’t even deny the accusation, picking at the frayed edge of his shirt. “Besides, I think she’s dating one of her colleagues from school. Whittemore or Whitmore.”

“That dick?”

Said dick was with Lydia the last time she took Derek and the rest of his employees out to lunch for hitting their monthly book sales quota during the first week. The entire outing he had bitched about having to be there. Derek almost snapped when he started ragging on the future of print books but Lydia solved the problem instead. Without even pausing her conversation with Erica, she kicked Jackson in the shin with the heel of her four inch Louboutin pumps.

“Yeah.”

Isaac frowns, pulling at a thread until it snaps. “He doesn’t deserve her.”

“Probably not.”

Derek stirs in the other ingredients with the mushrooms, covering the pan and setting it to simmer until the pasta is done. Isaac is still frowning when Derek sits down across the table from him. He sighs, reaching for the tablet. He enters the password, Cora’s birthday, and slides it across the table.

“Lydia wants to meet for lunch next week,” he says as Isaac pokes at the screen, shoulders rising when he looks up. “If you promise not to mention that I own that abomination you’re holding, I’ll let you come.”

Isaac grins widely and Derek smiles in return. “Sir Leopardus shall not be brought up in conversation.”

“Don’t call it that.”

\- - -

The beginning of February is wet and dreary and the exact way anyone who lives in Seattle would expect it to be. The fog is so bad one morning Derek has to pull the Camaro over to the side of the highway until it eases up a bit. Erica makes fun of him for being twenty minutes late, saying he would have been there on time if he had just invested in the FJ Cruiser Laura had sent him an email about a few days before. Derek made the mistake of leaving Sir Leopardus on the couch when the blonde came to pilfer his library for something or other, the email open on the screen.

It’s a slow Monday afternoon, rain drizzling lightly outside. Derek is in the back of his shop, slouched in his comfy swivel chair, feet up against the bookshelf next to his desk. He forgot his laptop at home but somehow the Kindle made its way into his bag instead. It’s lying conspicuously between a stack of invoices and a small cardboard display one of the shipments came with.

As much as he doesn’t want to use it, the tablet actually has come in handy in the past few weeks. Not for reading, because Derek would rather sell his soul before purchasing an e-book, but for emails. His iPhone is a model old and keeps freezing when he tries to send things, but the tablet works like a dream. Except for right now.

Derek has unsuccessfully been trying to open the same pdf for the past ten minutes, swipes across the screen becoming more like prods. He mutters curses under his breath, glancing up to make sure no one is in the storage room with him. Some part time college student is at the front desk, more than likely picking at her nails and facebooking her friends.

Frustrated, Derek stabs at the Mayday button three times, the screen momentarily freezing before a box pops up in the corner.

“Thank you for hitting the Mayday button, how may I help you?”

“I can’t open pdfs.”

Stiles squints at his camera before grinning. “Derek my man, I never thought I’d see you again.”

“What?”

“Well, I figured you talked the lady who bought you your Kindle probably returned it seeing how you never needed my help again.”

“How do you know I haven’t mastered it?”

“You wouldn’t be calling me if you had.” Stiles’ grin grows into a smirk, expression making his nose scrunch and glasses slide down. “So, pdfs.”

“My sister sent me something in an email and it downloaded fine, but it won’t open.”

“Okay. Let’s see if we can figure out the problem. I’m gonna drive now so don’t touch the screen.”

It takes all of two minutes to figure out the problem: Adobe needs to be updated. Stiles makes it known that it isn’t exactly his job to fix the problem as its not related to Amazon but pulls up the Adobe website none the less. Derek watches the bar on the screen slowly load until another window pops up.

“What are you doing?” 

“Shhh, just watch.”

The background of the open browser glow orange, the banner across the page made up of multicolored plush _things_. Stiles bites his bottom lip between his teeth in the window and Derek finds himself staring at the kid instead of the browser. He looks away when Stiles licks his lips, focusing on the banner.

What the fuck are giant microbes.

“Congrats, you have the Clap.” Stiles scribbles on the screen of the Kindle, circling the oblong navy plush several times before drawing lines coming out from the edges. “Sorry you had to find out this way, Derek.”

Derek doesn’t respond; he got lost somewhere between gonorrhea and how _pleased_ Stiles looks with himself. The kid snickers, flicking to the Adobe window then back. He doodles some more before erasing the smile he drew on the stuffed ~~thing~~ microbe.

“Where the fuck did you find this site?”

“That’s a long story. You have any other problems with your Kindle you would like me to fix before I give you the rundown?”

Derek shrugs, noting that Stiles is updating Adobe while he waits for an answer. He should go make sure whatsherface hasn’t emptied the cash register and left the shop unsupervised but he figures she will be alright. Boyd said a few days ago that the girl confided in him that Derek’s “disappointed eyebrows” were worse than being scolded by her parents. Isaac snorted while taking a sip of his coffee and wound up burning his left nostril when it came out the wrong orifice.

“Shouldn’t you be assisting other clueless people like me?” Derek asks, smirking as Stiles turns away from the camera.

“Finstock’s on break and Scotty’s got a night shift so I’m kind of bored, alright? ‘Sides, half of the other tech advisors here are sitting in their cubicles writing reviews on shit they’ve bought in the past week. We don’t get a lot of calls on Monday afternoons.”

“Who’s Scott?” Derek asks, idly wondering how important he is since Stiles has brought him up both times Derek has called.

“Hold on. Okay, your Adobe’s all updated, try to open the pdf.”

Derek does as instructed. The tablet hums before opening the document. Stiles muffles his laughter, obviously catching the title: _Reasons Why You Should Purchase a Mom Car_.

“It works.”

“I saw.” Stiles’ laughter echoes over the speaker and he readjusts his glasses after wiping the corner of his eye. “So, you sure you want to hear the story of how yours truly discovered the fantastic site known as Giant Microbes?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve you actually giving someone the Clap.”

“Nah, that would be Scott.” Stiles leans forward on his chair and Derek realizes Stiles’ eyes are much more caramel than they are just brown. “Except it wasn’t the Clap.”

“He gave someone else a STD?”

“STI, and no, the dumbass contracted Giardia from a dog.”

Derek stares at the screen, partially wanting an explanation but afraid to know the answer. “How did he do that?”

“He used to work for a vet back in high school and, god this is being polite, Scott isn’t the most graceful person in the world. Somehow he flung a slide with a fecal sample on it into the trash, it splashed, yadda yadda yadda, shit in mouth and Scott got sick.”

“You still haven’t explained who he is.”

“Oh!” Stiles leans out of view before shoving something in front of the camera. “This is Scott. He’s my brother from another mother, both literally and figuratively.”

“It’s blurry.” Stiles moves the photo back a few inches; it’s of who he assumes is Scott and Stiles, both dressed in god awful eighties inspired clothing. “And what do you mean literally and figuratively?”

“Technically we’re stepbrothers. My dad and his mom got hitched last year but we’ve been fam since we were kids. He works here too, just down the row. Finstock separated us because reasons.”

“Tangents?”

“More like annoying the fuck out of Greenberg. That guy can’t work when people around him are conversing, I swear. He complained to our boss.”

Someone shouts from the front of the shop and Derek jumps, having forgotten where he was. Whatsherface pokes her head into the storage room, asking for help before disappearing again. In the internet browser of the Kindle, Stiles has returned to drawing faces on the microbes, a full page of them pulled up on the screen.

“I need to get back to work now,” Derek says, setting his feet down.

“Okay.” Stiles glances away, mouth turned down before he smirks. “Thank you for contacting Amazon today and good luck recovering from the Clap.”

Derek doesn’t respond, just closes the pop up window as Stiles chortles to himself. Whatsherface calls from the front again, breaking Derek from his thoughts. He sets the tablet down and walks up front, ignoring the uptick of his pulse.

\- - -

Cora comes to visit at the end of February, flying from Sacramento, the closest airport to UC Davis, to Seattle on a Thursday. Derek chastises her for skipping seminar again but Cora just groans from where she collapsed on the couch the moment she walked in. ‘ _The lecturer was talking about primates, Dee. Primates. When the hell am I going to need to know about the evolutionary development of Western lowland gorillas? I want to study jaguars. Or leopards. Something that gets me down in South America._ ’

Derek cooks her dinner while she naps, texting Isaac, Erica, and Boyd to come over after they close the store. Isaac comes bursting into the apartment half an hour later, a bottle of wine under each arm. Cora wakes up long enough to yell at him before he wraps her in a hug. Erica and Boyd both say their hellos, slipping into the kitchen to steal bites of Derek’s chicken and dumplings.

When it’s finally done, Derek steps back to let everyone serve themselves, proud when Cora squeals in delight. She hugs him, calling him big bro in a way that is purely affectionate despite the fact Derek hates the term, and praises his cooking skills. Isaac brags that Derek used to make it for him when Isaac still lived with him and Cora cuffs him across the back of the head.

Between the five of them, the wine goes quickly, sending everyone into warm, lazy states. Cora says goodnight before disappearing to the guestroom. She pops her head out, dressed in a shirt that is three times too big for her, and tells Derek he forgot to move the books again. Isaac and Boyd offer to help move them and Erica scoots across the couch until she’s tucked against Derek’s side, laughing as Isaac yelps for some reason.

While he loves Erica, she knows he’s not big on people invading his personal space, which means she wants something. Cora starts cackling from the guest room and Erica grins before poking Derek in the stomach and asking if she can have the next weekend off to celebrate her birthday with Boyd. She says he has something planned but won’t tell her, pending Derek gives them the okay.

Derek sighs when Isaac comes tumbling back into the living room area of the apartment, complaining about the number of books Derek has in storage. Erica beams at Derek, chin on his shoulder, and whines. Boyd makes a vague hand gesture at his boss and Derek wonders how the hell he deals with the blonde on a daily basis.

In the end he says he’ll think about it which they both know means yes. Derek has a soft spot for Erica; he has a soft spot for all three of them. When he moved to Seattle, he was on his own. Laura refused to leave New York, citing the city’s need for good social workers, while Cora didn’t want to move across the country in the middle of high school. By then, Peter had already moved to Florida, claiming he was going to take advantage of the warm weather year round after spending so many years in the cold.

Erica, Boyd, and Isaac became his surrogate family, Isaac legally. Erica did not and still does not get along her mother because the woman is embarrassed that her offspring used to suffer from debilitating seizures. Boyd never had problems with his family, they just generally didn’t seem to care about his life so long as he went to school. Isaac would probably be dead by now if Derek hadn’t intervened and gotten Mr. Lahey thrown in jail. He’s dead now, victim of head on collision with a drunk driver, but Isaac has never seemed distraught over it.

Erica and Boyd leave with the promise to not burn the shop down in the morning, smitten with the way Derek levels his eyebrows at them. Isaac stands in the middle of the room, glancing between the door and the couch, making a distressed noise in his throat. Derek walks down the hall, pulls a blanket and pillow from the linen closet, and shoves them in Isaac’s arms. The kid grins and tells Derek he really is - was - the best guardian ever. 

When Derek wakes up the next morning, it’s to Cora talking to someone. She’s perched on the end of his bed, fiddling with Sir Leopardus, and speaking without regard to his previously unconscious state. Derek mumbles at her to go away if she’s Skyping with Laura but then he hears the other voice, a male voice. One of two scenarios is happening and the voice is not Peter, which means-

Oh, _oh_. Shit.

“What the hell kind of name is Stiles anyways?” Cora asks, digging her toes into Derek’s calf through the comforter.

“I’m sorry, but did you have an actual question? Because it’s really freaking early to be interrogating me and I’m not-”

“Calm down, kid. I wanted to know-, oh, Der! You’re awake. C’mere, this guy won’t tell me how to make what’s on the screen appear on your tv.”

“I would have but you never asked,” Derek hears Stiles quip.

Cora pushes at him with her feet and Derek remembers why he hated living with her that summer. He stretches, shirt riding up as he does, before placing a hand out for the tablet. When she sets it in his palm, Derek can hear Stiles mumbling things.

“Look, do you-, oh. Uh, hey there Derek.”

“Stiles.” Derek wipes at his face and Cora starts tapping at the mattress. “Sorry about her, she’s annoying on a good day.”

“You’re an asshole,” Cora retorts, disappearing down the hall.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about your girlfriend,” Stiles offers, expression the slightest bit pained as he says it. “So, not to be pushy and all that jazz, but did you really want help trying to transfer what’s on the screen currently to your television? Because my shift technically ended about five minutes ago and I haven’t slept in two days and Scott promised me homemade breakfast because he loves me.”

Derek doesn’t know how to respond, conflicted with being too forward and explaining, and wondering why it’s Stiles’ business. The silence draws on for another moment before Stiles starts doodling on the screen of the tablet.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” is what he finally settles on. Stiles glances up from his elaborate rendition of a dinosaur, long eyelashes brushing against the lens of his glasses. “What did she say to you?"

“That she was the one who ‘bestowed this life changer’ on you.” Stiles raises his hands, adding air quotes around half the sentence.

“She did, for my birthday.” Derek hears someone, probably Isaac, shouting from the other end of the apartment, voice discordant. “Cora’s my sister, my younger sister.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, back to doodling. “Guess that explains why she called you a dick when I told her you refused to download books. I thought she was just pissed she wasted her money.”

“No, that’s just Cora. Butting into people’s lives.”

Cora slides back into the doorway with an irritable looking Isaac behind her, saying “Der, get dressed. I want coffee and you promised to let me raid the store for ecology books. You can flirt with the cute Amazon guy later.” Derek feels the tips of his ears go red and Isaac raises both eyebrows before Cora pulls him away. He prays to whatever god there is that Stiles didn’t hear her.

Stiles taps at the camera with his stylus and Derek jolts.

“Sorry. And sorry, about Cora. She’s unforgivingly blunt and thinks that is a positive trait.”

“S’okay, I deal with much worse people. Customer service, remember?” Stiles glances away from the camera, nodding at someone off-screen. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“’Kay. Thank you for calling Amazon today and have an epic weekend.”

“You too, Stiles.”

The kid grins, chuckling. It’s then that Derek realizes Stiles erased his dinosaur and drew something else instead. To be precise, it’s a very crude sketch of Derek with fangs and pointy ears and crazy hair. A speech bubble with the word ‘ _aroo_ ’ is coming from the sketch's mouth. Before Derek can ask why, Stiles disappears.

“Can I have a ride home before we go to the shop?” Isaac shouts from the hallway. “I need clean clothes and a shower.”

Derek tosses Sir Leo-, _the tablet_ , on his bed and sighs. “Just take the Camaro and be back in an hour.”

Isaac steps into the doorway, beams and makes a kissy face. Derek lies back down, rubbing at his chin and scratching fingers through his beard. In his periphery, the screen of the Kindle goes dark. He rolls over and absolutely does not think about the way his heart started racing when Stiles sounded, for lack of a better word, _agitated_ over the possibility of Derek being in a relationship.

He changes Sir Leopardus’ password for the duration of the weekend.

\- - -

It’s a fatal mistake bringing the tablet to work with him instead of his laptop. Erica commandeers it halfway through her shift, leaving Derek to reorganize the bestsellers display as she downloads the trashy romance novels he refuses to sell onto the Kindle. Very few of his customers are the romance novel type - there’s a reason his shop is located near a coffee shop and a college campus. Half the people who wander in spend more time browsing than purchasing anything in the two story shop, delighted in how it’s split between new copies on the bottom floor and previously owned books on the second. Interspersed within the small space are large plush chairs - _they’re a must have, baby bro_ \- and a couch near the register.

Currently, Derek has both his sleeves rolled up, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. Erica cranked the heat an hour ago because the sky decided to vomit snow in the middle of March. Around him are thirty piles of hardback books, slipcovers reflecting the overhead lights. The bell to the entrance chimes and he hears Erica offer a half assed hello, then the click of heels against the hardwood.

Lydia doesn’t even greet him, just huffs like the books on the floor have personally offended her.

“You need to turn the heating down,” she says, unbuttoning her pea coat. “And fire Erica, she’s so engrossed in her Kindle she didn’t see me take this.” Lydia hands Derek a pink cellphone, lips pulled into a proud smile. “I’m actually pretty surprised you let her in here with that, what did you call them? Oh, that’s right, abominations.”

Erica makes a noise from the front desk, a mix between a snort and laughter, blonde curls shaking with her shoulders. Derek has sworn her and Isaac to secrecy; Boyd he simply trusts not to say anything. Lydia arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow before tapping the heel of her boot against the floor, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“We need to talk about one of your vendors. I’ve been looking over your invoices-”

“You’re a lawyer, Lydia, not an accountant.”

“I’m a mathematical genius, sweetheart. Do you really want to go there?” Lydia grins as Derek starts shelving books, rolling his eyes when he’s bent down. “As I was saying, I was looking over your invoices and one of your vendors is charging you twice what they are changing three of the other bookstores within a ten mile radius.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“You’ll glare at them with your eyebrows of doom, Hale. Let me take care of this, just once. Half the time I don’t know why you hired me when you rarely use my services.”

“You realize that makes you sound like a hitwoman. Or a prostitute.” 

Derek does not, _does not_ groan when Lydia presses the pointed end of her boot into his ribs.

“I get enough smartass commentary from Whittemore, Derek. I don’t need it from my clients.”

“Do you intimidate him with your brains as well?” Lydia simpers, stature radiating confidence. “How are you even dating him?”

“I’m not. Well, I was, but he made an offensive comment about Pluto’s planetary status and I dumped him.”

Derek halts from where he is evening the spine of his books so they are all the same distance from the back of the shelf, mouth open as he turns to Lydia. She flicks a section of her hair behind her shoulder, bored. With a sigh, she taps at his chin.

“Are you serious?”

“What do you think?” When Derek doesn’t answer, she throws her hands up in the air. “God, you’re dense. No, that’s not why we broke up. He wanted me to put in a good word for him to the partners and I told him no. Words were said and I ended it.”

“He was a dick!” Erica shouts from the front desk. Normally Derek would yell at her for using that kind of language in the shop but there are no customers present. “Isaac hated him.”

“It’s for the best. Jackson’s too competitive. The firm won’t hire him after graduation if he doesn’t learn how to be humble.”

“Like you?”

Lydia nods, tracing a finger over the cover of _Casual Vacancy_. JK Rowling is a goddess amongst authors according to Erica and Derek never manages to keep copies of Harry Potter in stock for too long. He’d never admit to agreeing with her but the fact that all seven books, including _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , are on his _favorites_ bookshelf speaks for itself.

“Finish with your stocking. You’re buying me lunch for having to drive in this weather.”

“I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“Yes, but I can charge you for a consolation now.”

Really, one day Derek is going to stop letting the women in his life push him around.

\- - -

The number of books Erica has downloaded onto the Kindle breaches one dozen before Derek decides to remove them. He manages that on his own, mostly through frustrating google searches and Isaac’s laughter. He could call Stiles and ask for help but he really, _really_ doesn’t want to seem completely helpless when it comes to electronics.

He does find a reason a few days later though. Isaac has decided Sir Leopardus is his own personal television and spends two days marathoning _Legend of the Seeker_ during his day shifts. Derek’s seen the commercials for the model Kindle he owns and knows there’s a way to set the timer. He just can’t find it.

“Thank you for pressing the Mayday button, how may I help you?”

There’s something off in Stiles’ tone and Derek grows concerned. “Stiles?”

“Yes, sir? How may I assist you today?” He glances down at something, biting his lip.

 _Finstock’s watching_ is scribbled across the screen in blocky handwriting. Stiles looks desperate for some sort of question, underlining _watching_ three times. Derek lets out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“Sorry, I was wondering if you could walk me through setting the Free Timer.”

“Sure. Go ahead and open the settings menu.”

Stiles looks up and away from his camera before groaning. He leans forward until all Derek can see is the back of his neck and shoulders, several lines appearing and disappearing on the Kindle. Before he can ask, Stiles sits up.

“You okay?”

“I swear, one, one! One formal complaint and the dude’s on my ass about customer service. One!”

“Someone filed a complaint about you?” Derek shifts on his stool, laying the tablet across the counter that serves as the checkout desk.

“Yeah, I mean, okay, sometimes I get bad reviews on the survey.” When Derek doesn’t say anything Stiles laughs humorlessly, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you don’t. The surveys. Amazon sends them out after you chat with one of us?”

Derek vaguely remembers receiving them but he has never opened them.

“Whatever, no one likes filling them out anyways. But yeah, so like two days ago some douche-, I mean _customer_ , accidentally hit the Mayday Button and then claimed I was invading their privacy.”

“I feel like you’re leaving something out.”

Stiles’ cheeks flush a patchy red. “They may or may not have called in the middle of getting some.”

“Did you-"

“No, perv, I didn’t see anything. I guess whatever they were reading got them all hot and bothered and they swiped the button before locking the screen. But trust me, I heard things I really did not need to hear at three in the morning.”

“You have odd shifts.”

Stiles shrugs, placing the end of his stylus between his teeth before jerking. “Oh! Did you really need help?”

“Yeah, Isaac keeps stealing this thing and watching crap television shows.”

“Is he your friend?”

Derek smirks and answers “No, he’s some kid I babysit.”

“Hey!”

Isaac, who has been pouting on the couch for ten minutes, protests his description and hurls a waterbear plush at his boss, the likes of which Derek totally did not buy after Stiles brought that stupid website up on Sir Leopardus. No, that was Boyd, who found his browsing history and mentioned that the bookstore at his undergraduate university used to sell them. ‘ _The kids will love them, Der_ ’ Laura had said when he mentioned them in passing. There is now a display of twenty Giant Microbes on the table next to the couch.

“Who are you talking to?” Isaac asks, picking a piece of lent off the rotovirus he’s holding.

On the screen, Stiles is lost in a fit of laughter. Derek assumes it is because the waterbear hit him in the side of the face. He grits his teeth at Isaac.

“No one.”

“Is that the Amazon guy?”

“Aw. Did you tell everyone about me?” Stiles chirps from the screen. Derek rolls his eyes, not noticing Isaac has come right up behind him until he sees Stiles’ eyes grow wide. “Jeez, Derek, are all your friends ridiculously attractive?”

“You haven’t met Erica yet,” Isaac replies, voice inviting. “You’re Stiles.”

“That’s what this little box says,” Stiles chimes, pointing at the box at the bottom of his window, “right?”

“Yeah.”

“Who are you?”

“Isaac.”

Stiles raises one eyebrow and his glasses slip down his nose. “I thought you said you babysat him.”

“Used to,” Derek says and Isaac punches him in the arm.

“Wait, how old are you?”

“Twenty three,” Isaac points at himself, then Derek. “Twenty nine.”

“Oh.”

Some college students walk into the shop, the bell chiming, and Isaac breaks into a broad grin. Derek waves at him to go help them before heading to the storage room. Stiles starts drawing on the screen.

“Care to explain?” he asks.

“No.” It’s not his story to tell, nor would it be his place to ask Isaac to explain his past to someone he doesn’t know. “So the Free Timer.”

“Oh, right. Did you-, oh yeah. You did. Four for you, Glen Coco.” Stiles slides a few bars into place. “So, basically just set the time limit you want and the Kindle will shut down when that time allotment is over.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” Stiles says, popping the _p_. “Will that be all?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Thanks for contacting Amazon. It was a pleasure helping you, Derek.” Stiles winks before waving and the pop up box disperses.

Derek jumps when he hears Isaac’s voice from the open door and drops the Kindle on his desk.

“Dude, you totally have a crush on the Amazon guy.”

“Go away,” Derek says, knowing it’s as childish as it sounds. “Go do what I pay you to do and dust the history stacks upstairs.”

“I did that yesterday.”

“Don’t care.”

Isaac mumbles something under his breath and disappears back into the shop. Derek glances at the Kindle before turning it screen down. He finds himself grinning when returns to the front desk, plucking the waterbear from the hardwood and placing it back in the display.

When Erica comes in for her afternoon shift, the first thing she asks is if Derek got laid. Isaac laughs so hard he collapses next to a shelf of books he’s rearranging. Derek says he’s disowning them from the pack.

\- - -

The next time he hits the Mayday button Stiles is not the one to answer. His call is forwarded to some girl that looks like she’s barely old enough to have a job, one that she certainly does not looked thrilled to be at. She answers his questions orderly and precisely, like she’s dying to just be done with the conversation. After showing Derek how to alter his Skype settings so Laura can’t call him on the Kindle, she bids him a good afternoon and disconnects.

Derek fills out the customer survey a day later, emphasizing her lack of enthusiasm. He sorts through his email to find the others asking about Stiles. Three of the links are dead but the fourth is still active and Derek gives him the highest ratings. He feels slightly less guilty about it and leaves Sir Leopardus on his kitchen table for the next week.

April comes with slightly warmer weather but a spike in rain. The Camaro does fine on wet pavement but it doesn’t help when everyone and their mom insists on driving ten below the speed limit. The spot right next to the back door becomes coveted, just like it is every year, and Derek starts getting to the shop twenty minutes early.

With spring also comes the end of the year rush for students needing sources for essays and papers. The shop is relatively busy with college kids who buy coffee then slip inside the bookstore to find some corner to read or fall asleep in. Moochers they may be but it reminds Derek fondly of watching his friends go through finals.

There’s a Tuesday early in the month with torrential downpours and Derek barely makes it inside without being soaked through. He texts Boyd once he turns the heat on, telling him not to come in. No one will be out in this storm.

Eight rolls into nine and Derek glances out the large window at the front of the store with a sigh. The sky is a dark grey, rain pelting down hard enough to rattle the glass. He hasn’t seen a car drive past in ten minutes, despite the proximity of the bookstore to a busy university campus. His laptop is sitting on the counter, softly streaming whatever Pandora station Cora created for him during her last visit.

Out of boredom, he pulls his Kindle from beneath the counter, enters the password, and opens the email icon. He could easily do the same on his laptop but he’s become familiar with the tablet now. A bright flash of lightning illuminates the front of the shop, closely followed by a crack of thunder. Derek flicks through a series of emails he’s been cc’d on between Lydia and his overpricing vendor. The word lawsuit it thrown around several times.

There’s an email from Amazon asking about his last customer experience which Derek pauses on for a minute, racking his brain because he can’t remember having hit the Mayday button in a week or so. He figures it must be a glitch and deletes the email, scrolling down. Cora has sent him a picture of where she’ll be staying in Brazil during the summer while she does her field work for her Masters. Derek replies with a simple ‘ _please don’t get eaten by the cats you love. if you do, it’s just me and i can’t deal with an overbearing laura all on my own._ ’ He cc’s Laura and sends the email, grinning.

Derek considers for a moment opening the Hulu account Isaac always leaves logged into before hovering over the Mayday Button. He knows purchasing a movie through Amazon is probably simple, but with the shop abandoned, he figures calling Stiles for help will help pass the time. The window expands from the corner and Stiles appears.

“Good morning, how may I help you?”

“You look like you just got out of the shower.”

“Really? I thought I looked like I just walked through the desert,” Stiles snarks at him, pulling his beanie and glasses off. “It’s raining cats and dogs here, bro, and Scott lost all the umbrellas.”

“I’m going to assume you live together or else he has a proclivity for swiping umbrellas.”

“Heh,” Stiles says, running his fingers through his hair. “Both, both for the win. That and his girlfriend is visiting for the week and he had to make sure she had a umbrella in case she needs to leave the apartment. Although, the one he left her is broken and inverts itself if there’s any wind.”

“Chivalrous.”

“More like preemptive for future fallouts. I swear, if he put any forethought into making sure Allison was comfy last night when we watched the news and they said it was going to storm, we wouldn’t have been late today. But no, we had to rifle through both our cars and get donuts on the way here.” Derek watches a stray drop of water slide down Stiles’ jaw before he wipes it away, shivering. “So, Derek, what can I help you with today?”

“I wanted to buy a movie.”

“Okeydokey, you logged into your Amazon account?”

Derek shakes his head no. “I don’t have one.”

“You never cease to amaze me, Der,” Stiles says, pulling up the internet browser. Derek goes silent because _Der_. “First step, go ahead and create an account so we can get this show on the road.”

“What’s a Prime Account?”

“Something you pay money for and get awesome benefits from like free shipping and rush orders.”

“Oh.”

Stiles hums, holding a paper coffee cup to his lips and taking a sip. Derek glances up from entering his email information when he catches a familiar symbol on the side of the cup. It takes him until he’s sending a confirmation email to place it and he blurts out a question without thinking.

“You went to [Top Pot](http://www.toppotdoughnuts.com/)?”

“Huh?” Stiles’ eyes glance around the camera before he looks away to where his coffee cup is most likely sitting. “No.”

“You’re in Seattle?”

“Nope, nada, no se,” Stiles hurries in response, averting his eyes to another part of his desk.

“Stiles.”

“We’re not supposed to give away, shit, _shit_ , Finstock’s gonna kill me.”

“Why would it matter if people know where you are?”

Stiles bites his stylus between his teeth, grimacing. “Because if we piss someone off and they want to come, I don’t know, off us or something, ambiguity about our location is kind of vital?”

“I’m not going to kill you, Stiles,” Derek sighs, watching the kid run his fingers through his hair several times.

“I know, just, don’t tell. Literally, it’s a rule breaker.” Stiles looks off to the side before taking a sip of coffee, halting the cup against his lips before setting it down. “Wait. You know what Top Pot is?”

“Yeah, they-, that’s where you got donuts,” Derek replies as an afterthought.

“Uh, yeah. How, how do _you_ know that though. Derek? You’re kind of scaring me, buddy.”

“I have family in Seattle,” he clarifies - it’s not a _complete_ lie - and the nervousness in Stiles’ features dissolves.

“Huh. So, this is going to sound totally invasive and a little creepy and I assure I’m not a total stalker, but what kind of place do you work at? I keep seeing walls of books and I can’t imagine any career where that is a descriptor of your job.”

“Rude much?” God he’s been hanging out with Erica too much. “What do you think I do?”

“Depends. The first time you called I thought you were a baker. You had flour on your shirt and I swear I heard a timer.” Derek was waiting on a bowl of dough to rise; by the time he had finished that first request for help, the timer had already shut off, though he never remembered hearing it. “The second time I thought you might be a fitness trainer because your arms are ridic. Like seriously, how do you not rip the sleeves of every shirt you wear.”

“I like working out,” Derek says almost flippantly. Stiles settles on rolling his eyes as he takes another sip of his coffee.

“Don’t pretend that you are unaware of how you look. Please.”

Warmth rises in his cheeks and Derek looks away from the camera. It’s true; he knows _exactly_ how he looks. Cora likes to joke that he sells so many books because people have serious book nerd kinks. Erica had a crush on him for days until Boyd walked into the store the first time. He’s caught whatsherface unabashedly staring on several occasions. So yes, he knows what he looks like. But something doesn’t sit right in his stomach with Stiles commenting on it.

“You’re wrong.”

“Whatever, man. Next I thought you might work at a college or something but you don’t seem very scholarly.” Stiles scribbles something on the screen. “So that’s out too.”

“Closer on track though,” Derek says, reaching for his own cup of coffee. The mug is hideous but Isaac bought it for him their first Christmas together and he’s never had the heart to throw it away. Plus, it makes Isaac squirmy and embarrassed because the words _world’s best brother_ are painted on the ceramic exterior. “You can have two more tries and then I’ll tell you.”

“Hmmm, what ever shall I guess?” Stiles places the end of his stylus between his teeth, grinning. “How about lawyer?”

“I’d be far more inclined to call you on your snarky attitude if I were.” Derek smirks when the kid guffaws. “One guess left.”

“Bodyguard,” Stiles says promptly. “You’re a bodyguard.”

Derek shakes his head no, entertained with the Stiles’ guesses. 

“If you were to ask my lawyer, she would say I am a small business owner, but my older sister would say I’m a bibliophile who dedicated his life to a dying business.” Stiles drops the stylus from his teeth, licking his lips, face reading confusion. “I own a bookstore.”

“You’re a liar.” Derek raises both eyebrows when Stiles crosses his arms across his chest. “Prove it.”

Derek turns the Kindle around so the camera can face the store, rotating it slowly. Stiles whispers ‘ _motherfucker_ ’ then something brushes against the speaker. Derek hears a thud and when he turns the tablet back around, his heart stops. Stiles has taken off his headset and is leaning back in his chair, face flushed red. His glasses are missing as well and from what Derek can tell, his eyelashes are wet. Over the speaker he can just barely make out the sound of laughter, though the kid is doing a good job keeping quiet with his hand over his mouth.

Stiles finally scoots forward and yeah, those are tears in his eyes. Before he can pick up his headset again, someone off screen catches his attention to which Stiles squints his eyes. He glances at the camera before putting his hand in the way. Derek tries to make out what is happening through the cracks between his fingers but all he can see are the two moles on the kid’s palm.

“Stiles?”

Derek frowns, the screen going completely black for a moment before Stiles pulls his hand away. He’s still flushed but the delight in his eyes is more subdued now. He mouths something to the person off-screen before shaking his head and reaching for his headset.

“Hey, sorry, I kind of lost it there for a moment and then Scott needed to ask me something.” Stiles smiles and for the first time, Derek can tell he is forcing it. There’s something in the way he sets his jaw but he doesn’t dare ask. Stiles taps at the camera, eyebrows knit together. “Derek?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good, because I’m still recovering from your confession.”

“You’re the one who asked.” 

Stiles’ forced grin transitions into another, the one he uses he’s pleased with himself. “Dude, _dude_ , it totally makes sense now! I get why you hate your Kindle and why you’re so averse to purchasing books on it.”

“Glad you caught up with the program.”

“Haha,” Stiles mocks, rolling his eyes. “Seriously though, you look like a bouncer. Your bicep is the size of my neck.”

“Why don’t you show me how to purchase movies?” Derek asks, changing the subject.

“Alright. Super easy by the way. Not that I don’t enjoy our little chats but google could have solved this question for you.”

It takes little over one minute to explain the purchasing process and Derek wishes it would last longer. Stiles doesn’t comment on the movie he purchases - _Catch Me If You Can_ \- other than to state that the soundtrack is A plus quality. ‘ _John Williams is a god and if you disagree, we can no longer be friends_.’ Once he is sure Derek has an understanding on how to watch the movie, Stiles closes the _Shop_ menu.

“Will that be all today, Derek I-own-a-bookstore No-last-name-given?”

“Yes, Stiles.”

“Aye aye, sir. Thank you for pressing the Mayday Button and have a spectacular rest of the morning.”

The kid grins widely and the box shrinks back into the corner. Derek stares at Sir Leopardus until the screen goes dark, lamenting over saying he has family in Seattle, not that he lives there too. 

Outside the storm rages on. An hour later the power goes out and Derek’s curses are drowned out by thunder.

\- - -

Derek has always felt uncomfortable waiting in the baggage claim areas of airports. Around him are families embracing each other, parents scooping their children into hugs, grandparents hauling them off their feet. TSA agents are scurrying about, directing people to various carousels. Two particularly enthused teenagers are sucking face off to the side of escalators and whoa, hands are disappearing beneath clothes.

Derek absolutely does not think about how the girl’s skin is splattered with moles like Stiles’.

“Derek!”

He looks up from his phone and grins at his sister. Laura’s waving frantically, a large purse on her shoulder and coat in her arms. She laughs when he picks her up around her waist, hitting him in the shoulder.

“I missed you too, Dee, now put me down,” she says, flustered when he drops her without warning. “Where’s Cora?”

“Her plane just reached the terminal.” Derek scans the text message he has open on his cell and looks up at the board of flights next to the elevators. “She said it’s taking a while because there are an ungodly amount of parents traveling with small children.”

“And Peter?” Laura shifts her purse to the other arm, pointing down the row of baggage carousels to the one with her flight number blinking on the screen. “This way.”

“His flight got delayed due to the tropical depression over the panhandle. He’ll be here tonight and catch a cab to the apartment.”

“All the Hales under one roof,” Laura says, voice drifting like she’s lost in thought. “What’s left of us at least.”

“Laura.”

It’s too early for the guilt to set in and Laura shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. I won’t-, it’s just been a while. When was the last time we were all together?”

A loud buzzer rings and the carousel starts to move, every passenger from Laura’s flight scooting closer to the belt. “Before I moved out here,” Derek replies, slipping his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “Eight years?”

“You’re an old man now,” his sister jests, poking him in the ribs. “I remember when you said you were moving back west. You didn’t have that furry thing on your face back then.”

“You’re just jealous you could never grow a moustache,” Derek counters and Laura rolls her eyes. “‘ _I want a handlebar moustache, Dee, think of all the things I could do with it. Curling! I would curl the tips_.’”

“Shut up, I was drunk.”

Derek chuckles and scans the suitcases now moving slowly down the conveyor belt. Laura describes her suitcase, black and white houndstooth, and steps back to let Derek grab it for her. When it does finally pass by, Derek lifts it from the belt. It slams to the ground with a large thud and Derek looks to his older sister for an explanation.

“I’m here for a week,” is all he gets.

Cora comes trudging down the escalator fifteen minutes later, sweatpants rolled around her calves and a thin long-sleeved raglan shirt hanging off one shoulder. Laura immediately coos at her and fixes her hair. Derek knows Cora only allows it because she’s exhausted from finals. Both his sisters begin walking in the direction of the carousel with Cora’s luggage and Derek follows, tugging Laura’s obnoxious suitcase behind him. They sit in the uncomfortable plastic chairs as they wait, Cora nodding off on Derek’s shoulder as Laura recounts the most recent child she placed in a new home.

Laura snatches the keys to the Camaro from Derek’s hand when he unlocks the car, laughing as he places her and Cora’s luggage in the trunk. Cora snorts and crawls into the backseat, lying across it. Derek mutters insults at his older sister before slamming the trunk shut. In retaliation, Laura finds a pop station on the radio.

When they arrive at his apartment, Laura parks the Camaro in the wrong spot - ‘ _they’re assigned, Laur, move it_.’ Cora laughs from the back and hugs her sister around the neck. Both head inside the building, Laura with her purse and Cora with her backpack, leaving Derek to handle their suitcases.

Really, nothing ever changes.

Derek cringes as he steps out of the elevator, Laura’s screeching loud enough it echoes through the hall.

“Sir Leopardus! So nice to finally meet you!”

\- - -

“So, Der, I have a very important question for you.”

“No.”

“You can’t say no, you don’t know what I was going to ask.” Cora pokes him with her fork, prongs leaving red dots on the back of his hand. “I need a favor.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my brother and you love me?”

Laura snorts so hard she ends up spitting her shrimp fried rice all over her plate. Peter pats her on the back, grinning to himself. Derek just rolls his eyes, wincing when Cora stabs him again.

“What do you want, Cor?”

“I need to borrow Sir Leopardus.”

Of all the things she could ask, that is the last one Derek expects. He doesn’t realize his jaw drops until she raises her eyebrows. If Isaac were here he would comment on how it’s a signature Hale move, high in idiosyncrasy ranking with the eye roll.

“Why?”

“Well,” Cora starts, setting her carton of chicken with broccoli on the ottoman in front of the couch. “Where I’m going in Brazil, the research station? It doesn’t have a lot of outside power being in the rainforest and all. Mostly it is run on solar energy panels they installed a couple of years ago. The professor who’s taking us all asked that we not bring our laptops.”

“So?”

“So, I need,” - _want_ \- “something to write down my field notes in every night.”

“Why don’t you just use a lab notebook like every other researcher?”

“Have you seen my handwriting lately?”

The answer is yes and it is _atrocious_. “So you want to borrow the Kindle?”

“Well, duh, Sir Leopardus deserves to see where his name came from.” Peter snickers and Laura hides her face in his shoulder, sucking in loud gasps of air as Cora glares from the loveseat. “S’not like you use it, Dee.”

Derek makes a face which he hopes doesn’t offer up his attachment to the tablet too easily. Peter fixes him with an amused look before taking a bite of his eggroll. Laura glances between them, tilting her head and chewing her lip like she always does when she’s trying to figure out a mystery.

“Can I please borrow him? I promise I won’t break him. It’ll save me a lot of time and I can download a bunch of journal articles to keep me busy when I’m bored.”

“What happened to the moleskin notebooks I bought you for your birthday?” Peter asks, setting his plate down. “Those weren’t cheap, Cora.”

“I used them all,” she says with practiced nonchalance. It’s a boldfaced lie that Derek picks up instantly, whereas Laura and Peter will buy it. She has a tell, one her bother has known about for years: popping the knuckles in her left hand. “So can I, Derek? I know you won’t miss it for the reading aspect.”

“You’re still refusing to put books on there?” Laura pipes in, grinning around her fork.

“Of course he is.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You-”

“I said I’ll think about it, Cora,” Derek clips a little too quickly.

Cora just glares at him. “Fine.”

“Don’t pout, my dearest niece. Derek here just dislikes when people touch his things. Remember when you were ten and he took the cat hostage for an entire night?”

“Ouch, Peter.”

Laura leans over the armrest of the couch to push her elbow against Derek’s ribs. Derek stays quiet as his family dissolves into nonsensical chatter, bickering in a way that is one hundred percent _Hale_. He misses them, misses his entire family, more than he cares to say. And although it’s been years since the fire, since the funerals, since _her_ , it still pains him to know that it’s still his fault. That if he’d been more cautious and listened to his mother, she might still be here. That maybe instead of sitting next to Laura, Peter would be seated next to his wife and daughter.

Cora catches him drifting and shakes a piece of orange chicken in his face. Derek bites at it in retaliation, growling. Peter makes some offhanded comment about the lot of them being raised by wolves to which Laura responds that this development is entirely on him. Peter just grins smugly and guzzles down the rest of his beer.

When things have settled down and the Hales have spread out across the apartment, Derek grabs Sir Leopardus from the bookshelf next to the television and heads to his room. He can hear his sisters talking down the hall, both in the spare room for now. Peter’s somewhere in the streets of Seattle, walking a few blocks away to the hotel he is staying at. "It’s not that I don’t love you all," he had said, feigning a yawn. "But I rather spend the night in a bed than on the floor or a couch. Besides, with you three fighting over the bathrooms and coffeepot, the entire place will be in chaos for at least an hour after you wake up."

Derek closes the door to his room, hand hovering over the doorknob. He decides to lock it so no one will come barging in again. He showers and changes into fresh boxers and a shirt that has taken him three years to wear into being comfortable.

His laptop hums as it starts up, light illuminating the wall the bed is pushed against. He leans over the side of the mattress he doesn’t sleep on, tugging a cord to turn the lamp off. After sending a short email to one of his vendors, the one who delivers him heaps of used classical history books, he closes his computer, setting it on the floor before reaching for Sir Leopardus.

Part of him sees no problem in letting Cora borrow it. She would put it to better use than he does and wasn’t he the one who said she should just take it in the first place? Everything he uses the tablet for - emails, the internet when he doesn’t have his laptop nearby, entertainment for his friends when their shifts lull by - could be done on any of the computers at the bookstore. Work wise, it would force Isaac to stop binge watching shows that later gave him nightmares. Erica would be subjected to purchasing her cheesy romance novels in person. Boyd wouldn’t care so long as Derek allowed him to check his Fantasy Baseball line-up when games overlapped with his shifts.

Losing the ability to see or speak with Stiles is the real issue. For all that the kid likes to boss Derek around and make fun of his inability to operate his Kindle without assistance, Derek would miss him. Three months is a long time to not see someone.

Would Stiles even notice his absence? Probably, Derek reckons, if nothing more than the fact he’s been calling for help every month since January. Then again, the kid probably helps dozens of people a day. Why would Derek stick out amongst all the others?

They’re not friends, not really. Stiles gets paid to help people, ‘ _incompetent idiots_ ’ as Isaac so kindly put it. To his chagrin, Derek falls right into that category.

It’s an unsettling feeling, trying to imagine not seeing Stiles for so long. Maybe Isaac is right; maybe Derek really _is_ gone on him. But what good does that do him? He may know the kid lives in Seattle, but it’s a big city, split between several bodies of water. And if he were to ask which subsection he resides in, Stiles would more than likely call him a huge creeper and probably report him to his supervisor.

Derek is too old for this crush shit.

He unlocks the tablet with a flick of his finger and presses the Mayday Button, pondering an excuse to feed Stiles. The pop up box expands from the corner, the picture inside black and stalling. When a man with shaggy blond hair answers, Derek promptly apologizes and exits the window. The tech advisor doesn’t get a word out before the screen returns to normal. Out in the hallway Laura shouts, reminding him that she expects breakfast in the morning. Derek fiddles around on Sir Leopardus for a few minutes before setting the Kindle screen down on the table next to his bed.

When he sleeps he dreams of his family, both the Hales and his friends, as well as _her_. The dream wakes him up before dawn and he shoots up in bed, sweating and panting. When lying in the dark for an hour still renders him fully awake, he reaches for his Kindle. He opens the internet browser, squinting his eyes before backtracking to dim the backlight settings.

The homepage opens to the Amazon website. Derek scrolls down, pausing on the link for a better version of the tablet he has. He clicks it, reading though the description before tapping the purchase button.

\- - -

When it arrives two days later, Cora eyes the box suspiciously upon seeing it. The cardboard package is leaning against the door to Derek’s apartment when they return from a movie with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. Peter’s off somewhere with a woman he met and procured a number from at the bookstore yesterday. Laura is still out with Erica, probably planning her brother’s demise as Isaac and Boyd sit idly on the sideline. Derek unlocks the door and steps inside without touching the box, chiding Cora to follow.

The moment she realizes that a, the box is addressed to her, and b, is the same dimensions as the box Sir Leopardus came in, she tackles Derek in the hallway. Like so many months before, she hits him in the forehead with the corner of the box, calling him the best big bro to ever bro. Derek asks her not to go crazy purchasing books just to spite him.

Cora agrees, nodding and clutching the box to her chest. She gets it, how important the shop is to him, how big of a deal it is for him to have actually purchased an e-reader tablet. It goes against his beliefs and loyalty to what has become an ever evolving industry where print is becoming a thing of the past. She hugs him again once she has calmed down, telling him he can name the tablet.

Derek debates on a name while Cora unwraps the Kindle. He settles on Lady Prionailurus, keeping with his sister’s theme of naming electronics after big cats. She beams and announces that she will cook him dinner in gratitude. Derek ruffles her hair, ignoring her protests to stop, and leaves her to preparing food while he naps.

It’s a surprise when he walks into the kitchen an hour later and there’s a familiar voice present other than his sister’s. Cora is perched on the counter, mindlessly stirring a pot of chili with one hand and holding her Kindle with the other. She yelps when Derek waves a hand in her face and she slams her head back against a cabinet. From the tablet Stiles squawks out a ‘ _hey_ ’ while Cora calls him a dick. Derek just steals a spoonful of chili and retreats to the couch. He turns on the television, changing the channel to ESPN in search of the game between the Dodgers and Mets that should be starting within the hour. Cora shouts from the kitchen a few minutes later, immediately shoving Lady Prionailurus into her brother’s hands. Derek is about to ask if Cora caused Stiles trouble before the kid salutes the camera with a wink and disconnects.

The rest of the week passes quickly. Between spending time with his sisters, uncle, and friends, Derek doesn’t have a free moment to worry about whatever it is that he feels for Stiles. Lydia tags along to lunch one day and with flawless seduction, gets Isaac to admit the tablet Erica was using in March belongs to Derek. He tries to defend himself but Lydia just flicks him in the forehead. Erica and Cora both laugh, Boyd rolls his eyes, and Isaac ducks his head when Derek glares at him with furrowed eyebrows.

With a heavy sigh, the lawyer calls him an idiot before turning to Isaac with a wicked grin. Derek has known her long enough to know it’s the one she wears when she wants information from someone. He wants to warn Isaac he is about to become Lydia’s prey but the kid already has stars in his eyes.

He half expects Isaac to skip his afternoon shift but when he shows up at two, it’s with a blissed out look on his face. Laura immediately pulls him down on the couch next to the register and begins questioning him. Erica, hearing the commotion, skips down the stairs from the second floor to listen in, leaving Derek as the only one actually working.

Just one of many other instances in which Derek regrets hiring his family and not detached strangers.

\- - -

It’s early June before Derek needs to press the Mayday button again. He’s only half paying attention when Stiles appears on the screen, grinning when Derek greets him with a toothbrush in his mouth. He mumbles out a request for the kid to explain the Cloud, apologizing when he sets the Kindle down next to the sink of his bathroom. He can hear Stiles laugh as he dives into one of his many practiced tutorials.

Before he ends the call, Derek inquires as to why Cora’s Kindle was also directed to Stiles. The kid shrugs before looking down, sketching an elaborate doodle of an octopus as he explains that it has to do with IP addresses and the customer’s location in relation to all the call centers in the US. ‘ _The pilot study also showed that people were more likely to call back to ask for additional help if they were matched with the same person_ ’ Stiles says as he adds a monocle and top hat to the octopus. ‘ _Something about wanting to reduce the number of people that are exposed to a callee’s humiliation._ ’

‘ _That makes it sound like Amazon wants to seduce their clients with comfort_ ’ Derek replies, smirking as Stiles accidentally skews the line of the baton he’s added his octopus. When the silence drags on for a prolonged period of time, Derek reaches a hand toward the screen as though Stiles is in the room. He starts to apologize when Stiles interrupts him with ‘ _is it working?_ ’

There is no hesitation in his voice as he asks; he just blinks as the camera once before his face and neck flush blotchy red. He forces a laugh, one that Derek has only heard once before, and clears the tablet of his drawing. ‘ _I need to go, man_ ’ he says, running a hand through his hair. ‘ _Other people to help and all._ ’ Derek just nods and mumbles a goodbye.

 _Yes_ , he thinks as the screen goes black. _Yes, it’s working_.

Two weeks later he presses the Mayday button and only has to wait three seconds before the call is answered. He watches the recognition of who is calling sweep across Stiles’ face in awe: it begins with the uptick of the right corner of his mouth, nose scrunching before his lips part and he laughs with his upper body. Derek figures the conversation that ended with an awkward and rushed goodbye has been forgotten, pushed into the recesses of Stiles’ mind. Derek makes an excuse for needing help on the spot and Stiles gladly offers his assistance.

The summer progresses much the same. Cora sends him emails from Brazil once a week with updates on her field work, including a photo here and there. Laura calls him routinely on Wednesdays to make sure the bookstore hasn’t gone under with the release of new versions of the Nook and iPad. Peter checks in at odd times of night, often drunk and deliriously happy with his women of the week.

Boyd proposes to Erica in the middle of the farmer’s market Derek likes to visit on Sunday mornings, people around them cooing in awe. Erica pounces on her boyfriend, _fiancé_ , giggling and crying and pushing at his shoulders to let her down although he isn’t holding her up. From a food truck twenty feet away, Isaac grins and elbows Derek, saying they both owe Cora money for winning the bet on who would propose to whom first.

Seeing Erica so happy makes Derek ache for someone just as much. It’s not as though everyone in his life has a significant other, or that anything in their little family will really change, but it’s enough of a shift that Derek _wants_. Neither Isaac nor Lydia will give him details about whatever is going on between them but he knows it’s something because lawyers like Lydia don’t just take personal time to drop by little bookstores to sit on musty couches and flick through old medical texts.

Calling Stiles seems like the best option to remedy the feeling of loneliness he doesn’t dare admit to any of his friends. The kid is always eager to talk and buys Derek’s excuses when he starts pressing the Mayday button once a week. Even as the requests become more menial and obscure, he still treats Derek like he’s never operated the Kindle before.

They trade secrets like currency when Derek is alone, whether it’s in the backroom of the shop or in his apartment, voices low as though they will be scolded if caught. At first it’s simple things, like why Derek owns a bookstore and how Stiles ended up at Amazon. Derek finds himself indulging the kid when he digs a little too deep, asks questions he would normally find too invasive. But there’s something, _something_ , that instinct says to trust.

It’s mid-July before Stiles flat out calls him on it, simply says that if Derek doesn’t start thinking of better excuses to see his beautiful face, he’s going to get Stiles fired. Derek doesn’t even protest that accusation, just smirks at the camera and revels in the way Stiles’ wipes at his cheeks, the skin pink and probably burning. The kid amends his statement after he explains how to stream movies, something Derek says Isaac wants to know how to do, because if he were Derek, he’d want to see his face all the time too.

In the encompassing weeks, Stiles reminds him of that fact every time Derek’s “calls for help” - Stiles uses air quotes and snickers - go over ten minutes. ‘ _You know, or average, our calls take fifteen seconds, Der. You’re exceeding the time limits_ ’ the kid chides, biting his bottom lip between his teeth when Derek rolls his eyes.

Lydia, who is sitting on the counter waiting for Derek to sign revised contracts with one of his vendors, tilts the screen to see who is speaking before telling Derek he should tap that. Stiles either doesn’t hear the comment or ignores it because he demands to know who else is there. Derek faces the camera towards Lydia who merely rolls her eyes when Stiles exclaims ‘ _oh my god, seriously? Are all your friends this gorgeous?_ ’

‘ _I’m his lawyer_ ’ Lydia announces coolly, picking at her nails. On the screen, Stiles’ jaw drops before he asks her to marry him. ‘ _You would only be so lucky_ ’ she replies, smiling subtlety while Stiles preens. ‘ _Say goodbye, Stiles, Derek is mine for another fifty minutes._ ’ The kid grins and waves, help box disappearing. Lydia flicks her client on the nose with her pen, demanding he tell her _all_ about the boy with hipster glasses and an oral fixation.

A week before the fall semester starts at the university nearby Derek gets his weekly call in between rifling through a stack of applications. Whatsherface is down to only one day a week and Derek needs to find someone to fill her vacant shifts. There’s always a flux of applicants looking for part time work when school starts up again and if he doesn’t hire someone soon, Erica will pick at him until he does.

Stiles is laughing at the skills portion of some undergraduate’s resume when Isaac snatches the tablet out of Derek’s hands and says there are two kids up front inquiring about job openings. Derek frowns and reaches out to say goodbye but Isaac has already disappeared out of the back room. He sighs and shuffles around papers until he finds the stack of blank applications, grabbing several and heading to the counter.

Lydia comes traipsing down from the second floor twenty minutes later, a bruise visible on her collarbone where her blouse is open and a miniscule smudge of lipstick on her cupid’s bow. Derek hadn’t even been aware she was there. She sets Sir Leopardus down on the counter as well as a renewal contract for her services, tapping the paper twice.

‘ _I need you to sign these and have them faxed to my office by Monday, Hale._ ’ Lydia runs a finger along the edge of her lip, wiping the smudge of lipstick away. ‘ _And by the way, you really need to get a handle on that boy. You do know he lives here too, correct?_ ’ When Derek doesn’t answer, she thins her lips and buttons her blazer. ‘ _Get on that, Derek, before someone else does._ ’

\- - -

Two weeks go by before Derek has a chance to “accidentally” hit the Mayday button. Between visiting Cora for a weekend - during which she called Stiles but did not tell him Derek was there - and helping Isaac move into a new apartment so Erica could move in with Boyd, he hasn’t had the time. The second floor stacks had to be moved around at the request of several customers to better reflect the same layout as the first floor which meant several days of cleaning, organizing, and complaining from all of his employees.

The shop is abandoned, as it normally is this early in the morning. Dozens of students have already walked past the bookstore, coffee cups in hand, as well as umbrellas. It’s not raining at the moment but the news called for storms off and on all day.

Erica won’t be in for another hour, citing a doctor’s appointment as the reason, although she promised to pick breakfast up on the way to work. Derek didn’t buy her excuse when she fumbled to answer where doctor was located but said alright anyways. He’s learned by now that if Erica has a reason to lie about something like this, it’s for a good reason.

Derek pulls Sir Leopardus from a drawer beneath the register, unlocking the screen and leaning it against the counter. He checks his email before pressing the Mayday button, anxious for reasons he can’t place. A box expands from the corner of the screen, a circle in the middle swirling as he waits.

Stiles looks less than amused when he answered, bags beneath his eyes barely hidden by his glasses. He rolls his eyes and sighs before speaking.

“Hello, thank you for contacting Amazon. How may I help you?”

“You look wrecked,” Derek notes, concerned over why the kid’s eyes are glossy.

“It was Scott’s birthday yesterday.” Stiles runs a hand through his hair, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “We drank way too much and while he’s passed out at home, I’m here. Dealing with people.”

“You’re hungover.”

“No shit, Derek,” Stiles quips, grimacing. “Look, can we not do this today?”

“Stiles-”

“No, you don’t get to play innocent. Wipe that hurt look off your face.”

Derek sighs and looks away from the camera. “I can stop. I can stop calling.”

“No,” Stiles says with a deprecating laugh. “See, that’s the problem. I don’t want you to. I’m just tired, I’m _so_ fucking tired of having to see you and remembering I don’t know you outside of these stupid excuses for help. I’m tired of thinking about you when you don’t call. I’m tired of- oh, fuck you, Greenberg, I can hear you through the wall, you dick!” Stiles hits the wall to his left, gritting his teeth a moment later. “I’m tired of Finstock threatening to suspend me if my electronics challenged admirer keeps calling. Okay? I’m too hungover to deal with this shit today. So please, _please_ , Derek, let’s not.”

“Okay,” Derek whispers, trying to process everything Stiles has just said. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Stiles frowns as he ends the call, leaving Derek in shock. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, just watches the screen of the Kindle dim before shutting off.

Stiles wants him to call. Stiles misses him when he doesn’t. Stiles _likes_ him.

Derek doesn’t know how long he sits there, unmoving until someone coughs. The kid he asked to come in for an interview is standing across the counter, hair windblown and coat damp. His cheeks are dusted pink when he apologizes for being a few minutes late, blaming the trek across campus taking longer than normal because the rain started back up. Derek just nods and reaches a hand over the register, telling the student to take a seat on the couch so he can go find his application in the back.

When he returns from the backroom, Erica is walking through the front door, grinning. She stops when she sees Derek, mouthing ‘ _are you alright?_ ’ Derek shakes his head no but brushes past her, calling the boy present for the interview to the storage room. Erica frowns and hands him a cup of coffee and muffin as he walks past her.

That night he goes to Isaac’s for dinner, shuffling around the kitchen as he friend cooks. Lydia shows up when they are about to eat, dressed down from her normal business attire to a flowing skirt and oversized cardigan. She fixes Derek with a look and slides into the chair next to him, asking what happened.

Derek polishes off his glass of wine before ever touching his food and starts on a second before telling Lydia about his call with Stiles earlier. She slaps the back of his arm when he’s done, telling him to suck it up and admit he lives in Seattle already. Derek isn’t sure how she even knows the kid lives here as well but he stopped questioning where she obtains her information a month after he initially hired her.

Isaac hugs him when he leaves, telling him it will all work out, grinning widely when Derek ruffles his curls and tells him in return that he knows Lydia didn’t just show up unannounced. His lawyer just shrugs, spins Derek around towards the front door, and says she’ll see him on Saturday for a business meeting. Derek nods and doesn’t miss the way she smiles when Isaac leans down to whisper something in her ear.

\- - -

Against his better judgment, he calls Cora for advice because Lydia’s words of guidance aren’t much help. She doesn’t laugh like he expects her to - _you really like him, huh_ \- but instead asks if he’s sure that he likes Stiles enough that it’s worth risking whatever they have. Derek tries to explain how he hasn’t felt this way in a long time, not since _her_. Cora asks if he honestly never felt that way about the two people he’s dated since then and he admits no.

So he waits ten days before attempting to contact Stiles again. It’s Sunday afternoon when Derek falls face forward on his couch, not caring that Isaac does the exact same thing every time he visits. He took the afternoon off, leaving Boyd and Isaac to train the newbie. On the television the Angels are losing six to twelve against the Giants.

Derek takes a deep breath before rolling on his back. He reaches over the arm of the couch, blindly grabbing at the remotes until he touches the Kindle. There’s a roar of cheering from the television when someone hits a double, the commentators joining the chorus. Derek unlocks the screen, hesitating before he presses the Mayday button. He’s not even sure if Stiles is working but he has to try.

Stiles appears in the screen a few moments later, biting his stylus. “Hi,” he says softly, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry about, I-, I am _so_ sorry, Derek. I was hungover and I thought my head was going to explode and I just-”

“I live in Seattle.”

Stiles stops worrying his stylus between his teeth, dropping it out of sight. “You what?”

“I live in Seattle,” Derek repeats. He can feel his pulse in his ears, both scarlet and searing as he gulps.

“You said you had family here.”

“I do: Isaac. Stiles, I live in Seattle and I want-” He can’t think clearly as his hands begin to shake. “I want to meet you. In person.”

Stiles goes quiet, blinking slowly with his mouth wide open. Derek watches several emotions flicker over his face before the one he settles on is anxious. His glasses slip down his nose as he moves closer to the camera, thick eyelashes brushing against the plastic frames.

“Derek.”

“You can say no,” he says in hopes it assures Stiles this isn’t an ultimatum.

“Derek, you can’t-”

There’s a loud bellowing from the Kindle and Stiles mouths ‘ _oh shit_ ’ before turning his head to the right. He shrinks into his seat, leaning back submissively. He glances at the camera once more before the screen goes black and the box recedes into the corner. Derek tosses the tablet on the ottoman with a groan, rolls onto his stomach, and buries his face in the pillow.

His friends, Lydia included, show up later with a bottle of vodka and Italian takeout. It takes one glass of whatever concoction Erica creates with pomegranate juice and Sprite before he tells them what he said. Erica cuddles up to his side and demands to know if that is why Derek disappears to the backroom of the bookstore with the Kindle once a week. He just nods and she pushes another drink into his hands.

Everything starts to blur together after that. Somewhere in the haze he agrees to Isaac hiding Sir Leopardus before falling into bed, telling him it’s the only way he won’t call Stiles. Isaac agrees, declaring it is his job as fam to do his big bro a favor.

When Derek wakes up, his ears are ringing. To his left, Lydia is sitting against the headboard, typing away silently on his laptop. She glances at him, grins, and goes back to typing. He’s about to ask what the hell happened when Isaac shuffles into the room, a stain on his shirt and sweat on his forehead. He says Boyd and Erica have the shop covered for the morning and want Derek to sleep off the alcohol before coming in later.

Isaac lurches at the end of his sentence and rushes out of the room and down the hall, a door slamming a moment later. Lydia just sighs, taps the touchpad of the computer, and closes it. Derek scrunches his eyes closed, hoping it dulls the pain.

“You aren’t going to ask if we slept together?” Lydia asks, setting the laptop on the floor.

“You’re wearing Isaac’s sweater,” Derek groans, flinching when Lydia pokes his arm. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“I am, Hale. Clearly this counts as a consultation that I am charging you for. Now why don’t we talk about the mess you’ve made with Stiles.”

“I rather not.”

“Hmm, too bad. You need someone to talk to. Erica and Boyd sure didn’t help last night and Isaac’s emptying his stomach in the bathroom.”

“Why did you let him drink so much?”

Derek can’t see her but he hears the fabric of his comforter rustle and something soft brushes against his elbow. Lydia’s fingers are in his hair then, pressing against his scalp. He leans into it and feels her gently untangling his hair.

“It’s not my responsibility to manage his alcohol intake.”

“I don’t want to talk about Stiles.”

Derek blinks one eye open, the other still face down in his pillow. Lydia is staring at the partially opened door, listening to the toilet flush in the otherwise silent apartment. He’s surprised when she leans down and kisses the top of his head, sliding off the bed gracefully. She turns around before exiting, hand on the doorknob, and tucks a ringlet of red hair behind her ear.

“It’ll work out, Derek.” A door in the hallway opens and Lydia smiles warmly. “Don’t fret. He’ll say yes.”

\- - -

By the end of the week, he’s itching with the need to contact Stiles. So he does. He caves and asks Isaac where he hid the Kindle, remembering that highlight of Sunday night with minimal embarrassment. Isaac rambles off several places before locating the tablet in the space behind a row of books in the spare bedroom.

Derek finds Sir Leopardus covered in a thin layer of dust outlining a smudge mark that resembles a hand print. He cleans the screen with the pant leg of his jeans, frowning when the tablet refuses to turn on. He lets it charge for half an hour before unlocking the screen and pressing the Mayday button. He holds his breath waiting.

A girl with shoulder length dreadlocks answers, smiling brightly at him when she asks how she can help. Derek apologizes and ends the call. _Another day_ , he tells himself.

It happens again when he presses the Mayday button four days later. This time it’s a man with a pencil thin mustache and a scarf. The guy doesn’t get a word out before Derek closes the box and turns the tablet off. Cora calls him later that night and says not to worry. ‘ _You probably just keep calling him when he’s not on shift._ ’

Two days after that he’s convinced that Stiles has had his calls directed to another tech advisor. The girl who takes his call has auburn hair in a side pony tail, thick rimmed glasses, and a beauty mark on her cheek. Aesthetically, she’s his type. But she’s not Stiles, despite the similarities in how she looks.

On the two week marker of his epic confession, Derek sits down at his kitchen table with the Kindle. It’s the last time he’s going to try. Worrying over Stiles is beginning to take its toll on his life and the bookstore is in no position to be run halfheartedly.

The box expands from the corner of the screen, stalling before someone answers. The kid has tan skin and messy black hair. He’s familiar but Derek can’t place his face until he grins, crooked jaw and all.

"Hello sir, thank you for pressing the Mayday button today. How may I help you?"

"Where’s Stiles?"

"I apologize if he is your regular tech advisor but he’s currently unavailable. Now, what can-"

“You’re his Scott, right? His best friend.”

The boy on the screen scrunches up his face. “How do you know that?”

Derek debates telling the tech advisor that Stiles showed him a picture that he later found out was taken when they were plastered at some bar on Halloween the year before. "You’re Stiles’ roommate. He talks about you incessantly."

"And you are?"

"Derek."

Scott’s confused expression breaks into a wide smirk a few seconds later and he chuckles lightly before running a hand through his hair. “Oh. So _you’re_ Derek.”

"Yes. Now where is Stiles?"

"He’s at home.” Scott scratches at his chin, brushing against the mic. “I kept telling him to get a flu shot but he wouldn’t listen to me so he’s in quarantine and I’m temporarily homeless because of it."

Derek isn’t really thinking when he asks “what’s the address?”

"Dude, I don’t really think that’s a-"

"I live in Seattle, Scott. Stiles, he knows.”

“I know, he told me. I don’t think you deserve it, to be honest.”

“Please.”

“He was a mess, you know. A _mess_. Finstock’s still pissed at him. But if he finds out I took this call and didn’t tell him, he will kill me.” Scott rolls his neck in a circle, grimacing when something pops. “So, Derek, give me one good reason.”

“Can’t you just trust me when I say I need to talk to him?” 

“Nope,” the kid replies, shaking his head.

Derek bares his teeth and Scott just smirks. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“You do know his dad’s a cop right? He’s mentioned telling you that. What kind of person would I be if I gave some stranger the address to the apartment I share with the son of my sheriff stepdad?”

“One who doesn’t have a job after I file a complaint,” Derek retorts. Scott just rolls his eyes.

“God, you really are kind of an asshole during first meetings, huh? Stiles complained about you for days the first time you called. Said you were rolling deep in disapproving looks and bushy eyebrows.”

The way Scott splits into a huge smile reminds him so much of Isaac he drops his head. Over the speaker Scott crows. When Derek returns his attention to the Kindle, an address is scribbled across the screen.

“I will kill you if you hurt him,” Scott states, underlining the apartment number. “He is my brother and I love him enough to give you a benefit of a doubt. So don’t lead him on, Derek. I don’t know what you two have talked about or why, but he’s _gone_ on you.”

"I know." Derek smiles, _really_ smiles and Scott’s eyebrows raise. “Thank you.”

"If you get sick it is not my fault. Now write down the address before I end the call.”

He does, scrawling the address along the edge of an invoice lying on the table. Scott mumbles something Derek doesn’t catch before ending the call. He sets Sir Leopardus atop a pile of requested reservations for another book store from his inventory, locking the screen. The tablet hums before it shuts down. 

Derek grabs his keys and leather jacket before locking his apartment. Once inside the Camaro, he types the address into the Garmin Peter bought him two years ago for Christmas. He starts the car while the gps determines its location and travel route. The robotic voice of the Garmin gives him an estimated drive time, thirty minutes, and spews directions.

Derek takes a deep breath before reversing out of his parking place.

\- - -

Stiles lives in the southeastern most area of Seattle, right on the edge of city limits and almost as far away as possible from where Derek lives in the northwest corner. The building is brick and worn but inviting. The neighborhood is old, one of the oldest in all of Seattle. It’s farther away from the water than where Derek lives, but it’s nice.

Derek parks the Camaro in one of the visitor’s spots in the corner of the parking lot, locking it before heading inside. His hands are shaking in his pockets as he ascends the stairs; he really didn’t think this through. It’s just after eight at night and Stiles is most likely asleep.

The stairwell door creaks when Derek opens it, slamming after he’s stepped through. He pulls the paper with the address from a back pocket of his jeans, finding the correct apartment at the far end of the hallway. The door has a small plaque below the peephole reading _McCall/Stilinski_.

Derek raps the door a few times, nervously waiting for a response. He can’t hear anything coming from inside the apartment and knocks again. He presses his ear against the wood, hoping none of Stiles’ neighbors are nosy.

“Stiles?”

Something inside crashes and Derek presses closer; all he can hear are heavy footsteps. The door vibrates then and Derek is too slow to pull away before something collides with it. On the other side someone croaks and taps what Derek assumes is metal against the wood.

“Who are you and what do you want? You can’t be Scotty because he lives here and has three spare keys and Allison wouldn’t show up without calling first. I can’t see through the peephole because I lost my glasses, so speak, blurry stranger.”

“Stiles, it’s me.” Derek leans his forehead against the doorframe, sighing. “Derek.”

“Oh god, the fever’s made me delusional,” Stiles moans, voice scratchy.

“You’re not delusional, you’re sick. Will you please let me in? Scott said you have the flu.”

“What if you’re here to kill me? My dad wouldn’t appreciate that. He’d probly have a warrant out for you in three states by the time he got here.” Stiles laughs to himself and although the door muffles it, Derek can imagine how proud he must look. “My dad is kind of awesome.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Stiles.”

“Hmm, Derek’s said those same words to me before.” There’s another tap of something metal against the door and Derek watches the knob jiggle. “Tell me something he would know.”

He racks his brain for some memory Stiles has shared, one he was told in secret. Instead of picking the story of how he and Scott met or how Stiles’ mother’s favorite flowers were hibiscuses, his thought process short circuits.

“Last month your boss recited Liam Neeson’s monologue from _Taken_ at the beginning of each of your shifts for two weeks.”

The knob rattles and clicks and Stiles yanks the door open. He’s wrapped in a blanket and sweating through the collar of his shirt. He squints at Derek before placing his face in his palm.

“Jesus christ, you really are here.”

“I thought you couldn’t see.”

“I’m far sighted, I can’t see anything within like four feet but I’d recognize your stupid perfect beard and cheekbones anywhere.” Stiles drops his hand from the door to hug the blanket closer to his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Scott.”

“Scott what? You’re going to have to use full sentences here, dude. My brain is all fuzzy from the fever and you’re catching me at my first lucid period since this morning.”

“Scott gave me the address when I pressed the Mayday button earlier. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you since, since-”

“Wow, serious talk. Let’s not. Because I’m dizzy,” the kid drawls, wiping his brow with the blanket. He turns around and starts to walk away, glancing over his shoulder when he asks “are you coming in or not?”

Derek steps inside and almost trips over a baseball bat lying haphazardly across the welcome mat. He picks it up and leans it against a small table with a dish full of keys and what he assumes is Stiles’ wallet sitting next to a coat rack. Stiles yells from the main room and Derek locks the door before following the noise.

“Do you even play baseball?” he asks, hovering at the end of the coach Stiles is sprawled across.

“Nope. It’s Scott’s. He doesn’t play either but that is a longo taleo,” Stiles replies into the pillow, cringing when he picks he head up to face Derek. “Seriously, dude, what are you doing here? I’m ninety nine percent I have the flu and the last thing you need is to get sick.”

“I got my shot three weeks ago. Boyd came with me and we got matching Snoopy Band-Aids.”

Stiles snickers and scratches at his throat, the skin streaked with red lines. “How nice.”

“Why haven’t, where have _you_ been? I kept getting these strange people I didn’t know when I pressed the Mayday button.”

“Aw, did you miss me, Der?” Stiles preens before poking a finger into Derek’s knee.

“If I say yes, will you promise to let me stay and take care of you?”

Stiles whines “pass”, holding out the _s_ until he is hissing. He curls into himself, knuckles going white where they are gripped around the edge of the seat cushion. Derek crouches before him, holding out his hand as the kid shakes. He moves the hair sticking to Stiles’ forehead out of the way and presses the back of his hand to the overheated skin.

“When was the last time you took your temperature?” 

Stiles groans and scratches at his throat again. “I dunno, an hour ago maybe?”

“You need to go to the hospital.”

Stiles raises himself off the couch only to drop back down. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why? Stiles, you need to be seen by a doctor. You’re burning up.”

“I said no,” Stiles repeats, shoulders shaking. Derek wipes a trickle of sweat away from his temple. “I can’t, not with-, _I can’t_.”

“Stiles.”

“I can’t, Derek. I’ll tell you later, _please_ don’t make me explain it, not now. Everything hurts, my _hair_ hurts, and I am still half convinced I’m dreaming you are here.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Stiles laughs, the same forced laugh he used months ago, and blinks open his eyes. Derek gets lost in their color; the camera hasn’t done them justice. Nor has it done his eyelashes or moles justice. There’s a cluster of them on the left hinge of his jaw, skin splotchy red. Derek slides his fingers along Stiles’ hairline, not caring that they come away slippery with sweat.

“Go home, Derek,” the kid mumbles, tilting his head away from Derek’s touch. “You are literally seeing me at my weakest and that is so not how I wanted our first meeting to go.”

“You were going to say yes?” Derek asks, thumb brushing the burgundy streaks across the kid’s normally pale neck. The scratches are raised and already bruising, one set in particular rough to the touch.

“I hadn’t decided.”

Stiles pulls completely away, tucking the blanket beneath his chin. Derek stands, thighs relaxing from being crouched in too tight jeans. On the table Stiles’ cellphone vibrates.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” he says, handing Stiles his phone. “Not when you’re incapable of taking care of yourself.”

“Hey, I’ve fared pretty well the past two days.” Stiles squints his eyes before giving up his attempt at texting someone. “And I did call Melissa.”

“Your stepmom?”

“Yep. She’s a nurse. Her directions were, and I quote,‘ _next year get a goddamn flu shot, Stiles, because like it or not you’re just going to have to ride it out. No one is going to put you on prescription meds so stop asking. Put on some big boy pants and tell Scott to go find a hotel. He won’t like it but if you both end up sick your father will kill me._ ’ So that’s what I’ve been doing. Dealing.”

“Well deal with me helping you.”

Stiles sniggers and rubs his face against the pillow. “I knew you wouldn’t be all nice in person.” His laughter slips into a whine and he flexes his fingers only to make a fist. “If you insist on helping me, please do me a solid and go out to my car. I have an old pair of glasses in the glove box. The keys are in the dish by the front door. It’s a baby blue Jeep.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just find your current pair?”

Sties snorts, “they’re lost somewhere in my sheets and I really need to wash those and no offense, but there is no way in hell you’re going into my room.”

“I could if I wanted to,” Derek retorts, smirking at the way Stiles levels his eyes. “You wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

“Yeah yeah, stop with the snark and go fetch me my glasses, peasant.”

“And I’m the one who isn’t nice.”

Derek complies and leaves Stiles on the couch, grabbing the key ring from the bowl. He’s in the parking lot before he realizes he has no idea where the Jeep is parked and wanders around in search of it. It turns up halfway around the building, parked beneath a tree. Derek takes in its condition when he unlocks the passenger’s side door.

The vehicle is _at least_ ten years older than he is, which means who knows how much older than Stiles. Aside from a backpack, a couple of shirts, and a plastic bag full of trash, the Jeep is mostly empty. He finds the spare pair of glasses in a hard case in the glove box, snapping the door closed. The handle shakes when he locks the door and Derek has to jiggle the key until the metal comes free.

When he returns to Stiles’ apartment, the kid has moved into the occasional chair with his blanket. He barely acknowledges Derek approaching him, a fresh layer of sweat on his brow and a new set of scratches across his collarbone. Derek calls his name before handing Stiles his glasses, fervently ignoring the way the skin on the back of his neck flares when Stiles’ hand grazes his.

“Thanks,” the kid replies weakly.

“You should go shower and then go to bed.”

“I would argue with you but I’m too exhausted for that.” 

Stiles shakes his way out of the blanket, swaying as he stands. Derek rights him before processing how close they are. Stiles doesn’t repel away from Derek’s grip on his shoulders, just mumbles him in the direction of the hallway.

Derek sits awkwardly in the hall as Stiles showers, telling himself it’s only in case the kid passes out. The moment the water shuts off, he returns to the living room. He fiddles around on his phone, noting that it is now past nine. He’s sending his move against Boyd in _Words with Friends_ when Stiles returns.

“You don’t need to stick around, Derek. Really. I’ll be okay,” Stiles says, sitting on the messy coffee table. He pops two pills in his mouth and follows it with a cup of water, wiping his mouth with sleeve of his shirt. “Go home.”

“Only if you go to bed.”

Stiles nods, smiling softly. Derek brushes at his knees and stands, heading for the front door. He can hear Stiles padding behind him, barefoot now. Before he steps out into the hallway, he turns around.

Stiles is still flushed red, although Derek can’t tell if it’s from the fever, the shower, or Derek being there. His eyes are glossy behind his glasses, frames more squarish than the ones he’s used to. Derek reaches a hand out to wipe the hair sticking to Stiles’ forehead out of the way and smiles when the kid leans into the touch.

“Will you be okay on your own until around one tomorrow? I won’t be able to get away from the shop until a little after twelve thirty.”

“You don’t have to come back. I told you, I just need to ride this out. Plus, you and I need to have some serious talkage and I’m not exactly in the best condition to do so.” Somewhere in the apartment Stiles’ phone shrills with a song. “Ugh, that’s my dad. Scott probably called him and this is him checking to make sure I’m alive.”

Derek nods and slides his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’ll be here at one tomorrow,” he says before turning around.

“Bring me soup!” Stiles yells when he’s at the end of the corridor.

\- - -

As requested, Derek knocks on Stiles’ apartment door at one sharp. He has a bag filled with soup, warm bread, and a salad from a bakery near the bookstore tucked underneath his arm as well as a bag filled with several items he picked up at the closest drugstore to his own apartment. Inside the second bag is every drug he could find that said it treats flu symptoms on the box, a new blanket, a still wrapped box set of _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ that Cora pushed at him the last time he visited, and three books he plucked off the shelves of the used sci-fi section this morning at the shop. When Stiles answers the door he takes in the amount of things Derek came stocked with, reaches for the bag that looks most like it’s carrying food, and turns around without so much as a thank you.

Derek follows quietly, content with not being thrown out, and ends up in the kitchen. There’s a stack of plates and cups that are about to overtake the counter if they continue to pile as well as an array of things he thinks Stiles has probably been pulling out of the pantry to snack on. Stiles waves him out of the way to root around in a drawer, producing a fork and spoon. He hands the fork to Derek and wanders into the living room, plopping down in the middle of his nest of blankets on the couch.

They eat with minimal discussion, instead focusing on the television. Stiles queues up an episode of _House of Cards_ on Netflix, sinks back against the cushions, and bites at a piece of bread. Derek notices that he hardly touches the soup but he remembers Laura not wanting to eat anything when she got the flu during their first winter in New York. He prompts Stiles into eating a little more when he’s done with his salad but the kid is on the brink of falling back asleep. Derek cleans up their trash and places the leftover soup and bread in the fridge.

Stiles is scratching at his chest when Derek returns. The skin is streaked more than it was the night before, maroon bruises beginning at his Adam’s apple and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. Derek disturbs his scratching to slide his feet over so he can sit on the cushion next to Stiles. The kid just fixes him with an irritated look and crosses his arms.

When Derek starts pulling boxes of medication from the bag on the floor, the look disappears. ‘ _I didn’t know what to get you or if you were allergic to anything, so I kind of just bought all of it_ ’ he explains, organizing everything on the coffee table. ‘ _I asked the pharmacist and she said Theraflu is the best over the counter medication since you can’t get a doctor to prescribe you Tamaflu._ ’ Stiles nods and plucks the box from Derek’s fingers to read the directions on the back.

He’s busy opening the medication as Derek pulls the blanket out and almost drops it when the fleece is pushed into his face. ‘ _Yours can’t smell good with how much you’ve sweat through it._ ’ It’s actually a lie because the blankets Stiles has piled around him are different than the ones he had last night. The air smells the barest bit like soup and laundry detergent but Derek ignores that and instead focuses on the task at hand.

Stiles thanks him in a raspy voice and proceeds into a coughing fit. He huddles himself against the blanket to his left, curled over the mound as he hacks harsh sounding coughs into it. Derek just rubs his back; at least he now knows why Stiles has been abnormally quiet.

When the kid finally sits upright, his face is red and his eyes are watery. Derek hands him a napkin left over from lunch, digging around in the bag for the rest of his gifts. Stiles smiles at him and wipes his eyes before reaching for his glass of orange juice. His face lights up when Derek presents him with the dvds of _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ , making grabby hands at the package. ‘ _These are Cora’s and trust me, she will kill you if you scratch them_ ’ he warns and Stiles just nods, grinning in earnest.

The final items Derek hands over are the books he took from the shop. He doesn’t get a chance to tell Stiles what they are; the kid breaks into laughter, face pressed against the back of the couch. He starts coughing again but calms down long enough to say ‘ _you’re such a dork, Der._ ’ Derek rolls his eyes and shoves the copies of _Fahrenheit 451_ , _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ , and _World War Z_ at Stiles, the tips of his ears going pink.

He checks his watch before standing - he needs to be back at the shop in twenty minutes - and tells Stiles to take some drugs and go to sleep. Stiles grins and bites his lip like he’s dying to crack a joke but keeps quiet. He picks the box of Theraflu back up and mouths ‘ _thank you_ ’ at Derek, placing a hand on his forearm. Derek nods, tucks the empty bag underneath his arm, and says he’ll be back after he closes the shop.

Stiles grins and waggles his fingers.

The door is slightly ajar when Derek arrives at six thirty, a bag full of healthy snacks in one arm and takeout from a tex mex restaurant down the block from the bookstore. He calls Stiles’ name before entering, cautious when he closes the door behind him. The kid calls from the living room, voice hoarse. Derek finds him curled up on the occasional chair, clad in sweatpants that are rolled up around his calves and a loose tank top.

Instead of focusing on Stiles’ arms and how he’s been very good at hiding that fact they are actually toned and corded muscle, Derek’s eyes immediately go his chest. The barest bit of hair it peeking out from beneath the low collar, but that is not what catches his attention. No, it’s the additional bruises he’s given himself from scratching at his chest and neck in an effort to cough up the mucus in his chest.

He’s flushed pink too, from his cheeks to his shoulders to his chest, skin shiny with sweat. Stiles beams at him from his chair and drops his baseball bat on the ground. Derek can tell before he even sits down that the kid is in a fever daze. Stiles greets him with a slurred ‘ _heyo_ ’ and Derek frowns. The contents of the box of Theraflu capsules he left Stiles picking at during lunch are dumped across the coffee table as is the other box of drink mixes. Derek tears one of the packets off the strip and ignores Stiles’ protests of not needing it.

Derek rummages around the cabinets in search of a coffee cup, plucking the last clean one from a shelf above the microwave. After filling the mug with water, he heats and adds the packet of medication to it, stirring it with a knife he acquires from the drawer Stiles pulled silverware from earlier in the day. He returns to the family room and hands Stiles the mug. ‘ _Drink it and don’t complain._ ’ Stiles sticks his tongue out and pulls his knees to his chest, sniffing the contents of the coffee cup before taking a sip.

While Stiles drinks the liquid - the packet said apple cinnamon flavor but Derek has his doubts - Derek pulls the leftover soup from lunch out of the fridge and heats it in the microwave with the excess bread. When he returns, Stiles has finished most of his drink and wrapped a blanket, the one Derek bought, around his shoulders. He makes ‘ _gimme_ ’ motions at the food and Derek smiles because Stiles wanting to eat is a good sign.

He pulls his own food from one of the bags and rolls his eyes when Stiles whines. ‘ _Dude, so unfair to eat that in front of me_ ’ he complains, frowning at his soup. ‘ _Burritos, Derek, bur ri tooooos._ ’ Stiles snickers at his own comment and mutters something about Scott. Derek just tells him to finish his drink and eat.

Stiles does, albeit slowly, pinching pieces of bread flat and popping them in his mouth. Derek clears the table of both their trash, asking if Stiles wants anything else. The kid readjusts his glasses, the newer frames perched across his nose, and shakes his head. He wraps the blanket tighter around his body and sinks into the cushions of his chair. He’s asleep again by the time Derek has located the trashcan and deposited their dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

Derek wonders how he can be comfortable the way his neck is angled and limbs are drawn close to his body. Stiles mumbles something and smiles in his sleep before his face goes lax and his lips part. Before any inappropriate thoughts can invade Derek’s mind, he steps back into the kitchen and eyes the sink.

Forty minutes later he’s pulling clean plates from the dishwasher and piling them on top of whatever he was left to wash by hand. The bottom of the sink is finally visible, sporting rust stains and something foul smelling. Derek is scrubbing the metal clean when he hears a smack against the doorframe. As he turns around he catches Stiles flailing his limbs into the wood, covering the skin above his heart and pressing his fingers into it.

‘ _I thought you left_ ’ the kid mumbles, cheeks flushed red out of embarrassment rather than being ill. He wanders around the kitchen then, touching the bare counters and table. ‘ _You really didn’t need to clean, dude._ ’ Derek shrugs and returns to scraping an ambiguous green blob from the drain. He hears Stiles shuffle around for a few more moments and pulls the hose next to the faucet out to spray the sink down.

There’s heat against his back then, Stiles’ hands if he had to guess, pressed just above his belt. He doesn’t lean into it, the opposite actually, focusing on his task. When the kid presses his forehead against the back of Derek’s neck, he stills. He has an inch, maybe two, on Stiles, and knows he must be slouching. ‘ _You’re not real_ ’ Stiles whispers, shifting his weight forward. Derek can feel the heat radiating off Stiles through his long-sleeved shirt.

Derek shuts the faucet off and turns around to find Stiles grinning at him. ‘ _Go take a shower_ ’ he says and Stiles just nods and disappears out of the room. Derek’s phone beeps in his pocket after he hears the shower start, a message from Cora asking him to start cleaning the guestroom out so by the time her fall break comes in October, she’ll have somewhere to sleep. Derek stares at the screen blankly, wondering how it’s already almost been a year.

He sends her a message back, saying he’ll call her tomorrow to organize her flight, and pulls a chair out at the kitchen table. Cora sends him another message, complaining about her advisor’s dislike of her plan to leave Davis to finish her thesis after the semester is over. Sometime between typing out a quick reply and checking the _Draw Something_ prompt indicating Lydia has played, the shower shuts off and Stiles comes back into the kitchen. He’s got the same sweatpants on and it’s the first time Derek realizes just how low they ride on his hips.

Stiles yawns and runs his fingers through his hair, standing over Derek to spray him with flecks of warm water. He snickers and Derek rolls his eyes, scooting the chair back. ‘ _I have a lunch meeting at one tomorrow but I’m leaving Boyd in charge for the afternoon. I’ll be by around three._ ’ Stiles nods and coughs into his shoulder. Derek turns around and heads towards the door, smiling to himself when he hears Stiles call out ‘ _thank you._ ’

\- - -

When Isaac finds out where Derek has been running off to during lunch and the moment the bookstore closes, he laughs himself to tears. Erica joins him, both collapsed on the couch, face buried in his shoulder. She calls Boyd and places him on speaker, voice cracking when she tells him where their fearless alpha has been going. Boyd heaves a sigh loud enough Derek can imagine that he’s probably pressed his face into his palms. 

“Derek, _dude_ , details, all the details,” Isaac requests, wiping his eyes with the stretched out sleeves of his sweater. “Please please tell us what happened.”

“You’ll just tell Lydia and Cora,” Derek replies, fiddling around with the computer at the register. “And the future Mrs. Vernon Boyd here will tell Laura.”

“What about me?” Boyd asks over the phone.

“There’s a reason you’re my favorite.”

“Hey!” Isaac and Erica yell in unison.

Boyd laughs smoothly out of the speaker. Derek's friends - _employees_ because they are technically on the clock - shoot him petulant looks. Derek smirks at both of them when the bell above the front door chimes and three students wander in. Isaac smiles impishly and offers them assistance and Erica snatches her phone from the table, ending the call without telling her fiancé. She flicks her hair behind her shoulder as she stands, leaning over the counter to point a finger in Derek’s face.

“You’re going to tell me all the gritty details, Der.”

Derek rolls his eyes and Erica flicks him in the forehead. With a huff, she stalks off to the far corner of the first floor to resume cleaning the history section. He can hear her angrily stacking books amidst the undergraduates that Isaac is chatting up by the bestsellers display. 

On the counter his phone vibrates and Cora’s name flashes on the screen with a section of a text message. He unlocks the screen and skims the message, something about the food habits of jaguars in Mexico. Instead of replying he sends Lydia a message with nothing more than ‘ _I did it._ ’

When she meets him for lunch three hours later, she says she’ll waive her consultation fee if Derek tells her _everything_.

If he feels his cheeks redden as he recalls the past two days, well, that’s his business.

\- - -

Stiles is in the kitchen when Derek arrives at the apartment that afternoon, some upbeat song playing from his laptop on the couch.

“You’re late,” he announces, stabbing the apple in his hands with a paring knife. He peels a long strip and slurps it into his mouth. “It’s four.”

“Lunch ran late. Lydia wanted to discuss the offer the coffee shop next to the bookstore contacted her about. Apparently they want to merge.”

“And you?”

Derek shrugs and steals a dangling strip of peel from Stiles’ apple. “I rather not have coffee stains on the hardwood.”

“God forbid the books show a little bit of wear.” Stiles slices a piece of the fruit from the core and pops it in his mouth, “S’not like people want to know their books have been touched by someone else.”

“Maybe the copies upstairs.”

“To each his own, Der.” Stiles munches on a few more slices of his apple before grimacing at it. He tosses the knife in the sink and opens the fridge to set the apple on the top shelf. “Didja bring me dinner?”

“I’m not your servant, Stiles.”

“You insisted on taking care of me, sir, and have not failed to bring me food once. So, comida por favor.”

“It four in the afternoon.”

Stiles shoves away from the counter and heads into the living room, pulling his legs up on the cushion when he plops down at one end of the couch. “Dude, I literally sleep all day. I have a wonky schedule to begin with because of work, but I’ve barely eaten anything other than what you’ve shoved at me since last Friday.”

“Speaking of,” Derek starts, sitting down in the occasional chair, “you never did explain why you haven’t been around when I pressed the Mayday button the past few times.”

Stiles mutters something into the hood of his pullover, flicking through the channels until he settles on _How to Train Your Dragon_. Derek coughs to get his attention again, witness to just how dramatically the kid exasperatedly throws his hands up in the air. Stiles places the cord of his hood between his teeth, biting down.

“You got me suspended. I kept telling you it was going to happened and it did. The day you told me about, you know, Finstock was the one yelling at me. Fucking Greenberg went brown nosing.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek offers. He feels beyond guilty but Stiles just shrugs.

“I could have blocked you or had your calls forwarded to someone else. I just didn’t because hello, why in the world would I give up the opportunity to see your gorgeous face?” Stiles snorts, waving a hand in Derek’s direction.

Derek thinks back on the past few weeks before asking “you got suspended for two weeks?”

“Nah, just one. But Finstock didn’t appreciate me and Scott correcting his beginning of the shift speech on my first day back and moved me to night shifts out of spite. But really though, who follows up quoting _Shawshank Redemption_ with ‘ _so long and thanks for all the fish_ ’?”

Derek feels his face heat when he stares at the table, a piece of paper sticking out of the copy of _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ he brought Stiles yesterday.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” he admits, hating the way he sounds almost desperate.

Stiles drops the pull tie from between his teeth, tongue darting out to free it from where it is stuck to his lip. “I would have probably.” He sighs and rubs at his cheek, pushing his glasses up his nose. “We need to talk about things.”

“Like?”

“I dunno, maybe how you lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie.” Stiles fixes him with a stare and Derek picks at a hole in the knee of his jeans. “Isaac is family.”

“You’ve said that but no offense, but you two look nothing alike.”

“Family by choice then. If you want to know you can ask him yourself.”

Stiles pulls his hood over his eyes and groans. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s unfair.”

“Stiles-”

“You wanted to know why I couldn’t go the hospital,” he interrupts, eyes darting to the books and dvds scattered across the coffee table, “right?”

“I thought it was the fever.” It’s true but Derek senses the real reason is much darker.

“Remember how I told you my mother died when I was twelve?”

Derek nods; how could he forget? In that same conversation he told Stiles that he lost most of his family when he was young too. Stiles got teary eyed when he spoke about her and Derek decided he never wanted to see Stiles that broken ever again.

“Yeah, of course.”

“She had cancer. Stage three adenocarcinoma in her stomach. I spent most of that year in the hospital with her when I wasn’t in school, watching her grow weaker and weaker, withering away and I couldn’t do anything.” Stiles clenches the sleeves of his hood in his fist, eyes flicking around the carpet. “Then Dad got shot when I was in high school. Through and through in his thigh because some drunk didn’t want to pay his bar tab. He was fine eventually but I couldn’t be in the hospital after that. So the other night, with the shaking and the refusing? That was me almost having a panic attack.”

Derek feels his throat go hot, the precursor to wanting to vomit. His chest is tight as Stiles continues.

“I got them a lot after she died. A lot after Dad got shot too. He and Scott, they know, they’ve seen me during them and know how to calm me down. I know you wanted to help but I can’t go to hospitals without remembering how the people I love most in the world end up there for prolonged periods of time.” Stiles pauses and reaches for the remote, turning the volume down. “Okay?”

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles shakes he his head, unkempt hair brushing across his forehead. “You didn’t know. Look-”

The phone on the coffee table starts ringing, the same song as the other night; Derek remembers Stiles saying it’s his father. Stiles frowns and silences the song, _In the Hall of the Mountain King_ , to answer the call. Derek raises an eyebrow and Stiles waves at him with a dismissive flick of the wrist. Derek picks one of the packets of Theraflu from beneath a coaster and busies himself with heating water while Stiles talks on the phone.

He stalls long enough the water stops steaming and mixes the powder in, stirring it with spoon. He licks the metal clean and deposits it in the dishwasher before returning to the living room. Stiles has both knees pulled to his chest as he talks, the pull string of his hood between his lips again. Derek offers him the mug of faux apple cider, nudging him in knee when he doesn’t realize Derek has returned.

“I dunno, dad, did you call him? He texted me this morning and said he’d be on shift most of the afternoon.” Stiles takes a sip of the drink and Derek sits down on the couch. “Well, try texting him. I know, jeez, calm down. Melissa’s not going to care if it’s purple or red.”

Stiles stretches his legs out, smirking as his places his feet in Derek’s lap. He holds his phone against his ear with his shoulder and tosses the remote at him, turning the mug around. Derek rolls his eyes and scrapes a finger along the arch of Stiles’ left foot. The kid flinches and spills some of his drink on the carpet. Derek just chuckles when Stiles tries to kick at him, wrapping his hands around the kid’s bony ankles.

“Just go with the fleece one. Seriously, I don’t know why you’re freaking out. She doesn’t even want to celebrate her birthday. Scott’s not allowed to call her,” Stiles says, squirming when Derek rubs circles into his ankles. His face goes lax with pleasure a moment later and he covers the speaker with one finger. “Dude, you’ve been holding out on me. All the joints in my legs have been aching since I woke up.”

“Did you take anything when you woke up?”

Stiles shakes his head no and moans with his lip between his teeth. “Sor-, sorry. No, oh my god, _no_. Oh come on, Scott-”

Derek feels something in Stiles’ ankle pop and he grins.

“Dad? Someone’s calling me on the other line. I’ll call you tonight before you go on shift, alright?” Derek can hear something loud and Stiles winces as he pulls the phone away from his ear. When the sound dies down he brings it close again, saying “I’ll be sure to tell him. Uh huh, yeah, bye.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” Derek says when Stiles tosses his phone on the carpet with a defeated sigh.

“Don’t start,” Stiles quips back, rotating his ankle to poke Derek in the stomach. He frowns and slumps further down the couch, crossing his legs in Derek’s lap. “God, you don’t have an ounce of fat on your person, do you?”

“Is everything okay with your father?”

Stiles squints an eye at him and makes a motion for the remote. “Don’t think you can avoid our totally adult conversation by asking about my dad.” Derek smirks and presses his fingers into the ball of the Stiles’ foot, proud when he elicits a moan. “Okay, maybe you can. That’s not the point.”

Derek continues his ministrations on Stiles’ feet and ankles as the kid summarizes the conversation with his father. Eventually he exhausts himself and dozes off. Derek extracts himself from the couch and pads into the kitchen, rooting through the cabinets to find something to cook. While mostly bare, he locates all the ingredients he needs for chicken and dumplings.

Stiles doesn’t wake up until it’s almost done, shuffling into the kitchen with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He peers over Derek’s shoulder, chin brushing against the sleeve, curious as to what smells delicious. Derek lets him try a spoonful and absolutely does not preen when Stiles says ‘ _holy god_ ’ and makes grabby hands at the pot.

They eat on the couch, Stiles stretched across the length of it and Derek at one end. After flipping through the _Action_ movies in Netflix, Derek reminds him of the _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ dvds he brought. Stiles frowns and asks Derek to set everything up, claiming his fever is flaring up again. Derek rolls his eyes and does as asked, secretly proud that the kid’s cheeks are flushed.

It’s another night spent together and pretending they don’t need to have serious conversations about what this is or who lied or why it feels so _right_. Derek leaves at ten with the promise of being there in there at nine in the morning; he redeemed a favor from Erica to oversee the bookstore in the morning. Stiles demands food before kicking the door closed, crowing loud enough Derek can hear it through the door.

He calls Cora on the way home, itchy with the need to talk to someone. By the time he enters his apartment, he’s filled his sister in on everything. She makes noises of approval every so often, slipping in halfhearted questions here and there. When Derek tells her he made Stiles his chicken and dumplings, she sighs and says ‘ _he’s gonna fall in love with you, Der._ ’ Derek just grins to himself and replies ‘ _yeah._ ’

\- - -

The next morning, Derek stops at the grocery store close to his apartment and buys breakfast - pre-cut fresh fruit without honeydew melon because Stiles can’t stand the taste - before driving south. The Seattle waterfront is foggy as he climbs into his car but the fog dissipates the further inland he drives. He parks the Camaro in the same visitor’s parking spot he’s been using all week, idly wondering how that must look to the other resident’s residing in Stiles’ apartment building.

All he catches of Stiles when the kid answers the door is his back. The name _Stilinski_ is emboldened in white across his maroon hoodie, the number _24_ below it. He follows Stiles into the kitchen, vaguely remembering that the plaque on the front door has two last names. Scott’s must be McCall.

Stiles opens the fridge to pull out his jug of orange juice, twisting the cap off to drink from the bottle. He hops onto the counter with little fineness, kicking his feet against the cabinet doors. Derek is barely aware when he asks for the bag in his hands, eyes focused on the words and symbol on the front of his hoodie.

There is no fucking way the world is that small.

“You’re from Beacon Hills?”

Stiles glances down at his chest, one eyebrow arching. “You know what Beacon Hills is?”

This cannot be happening. This _cannot be happening_.

“Derek?”

“You’re both from Beacon Hills,” Derek says, like he’s trying to confirm what is clearly written across Stiles’ hoodie. “You’re both from Beacon Hills and you’ve played lacrosse against Hill Valley and your father is the sheriff of Beacon County.”

Derek sets the bag of groceries on the table, no longer caring for the fruit. He pulls out one of the chairs with his foot and slumps down, holding his head in his hands. He’s only aware Stiles is even there when he calls Derek’s name in a distressed tone and touches his shoulder.

“I grew up in Beacon Hills,” he admits, not knowing what Stiles was in the middle of saying. He can feel the kid go still, withdrawing a moment later.

“You said you were from New York.” Stiles’ voice cracks as he sinks into the chair across the table, distractedly pulling at the sleeves of his hoodie. Derek’s heart breaks a little as he watches Stiles trying to make the connection, caramel eyes flittering across the bills and random pieces of paper he and Scott have accumulated and Derek organized when he cleaned. “Wait, _wait_ , what did you say your last name was again?”

“I didn’t.” Derek exhales, hands shaking against his thighs. “But it’s Hale.”

Stiles sits up, hand in his hair and mouth open. He’s staring at Derek likes he’s grown another head and Derek shifts uncomfortably. “Oh fuck” is all he says, repeating it a few times. “You, jesus, _Derek_ , your family. You said-, oh shit, the fire. Derek-”

“I don’t remember you,” Derek deflects. “Or Scott.”

Stiles shakes his head, grimacing at the table. “I didn’t move there until I was ten. The trial had already started by then.” Stiles glances up, eyes meeting Derek’s own, sclera wet and bloodshot. “You weren’t there.”

No, he wasn’t. Peter moved them New York and they never went back, never went _home_ , not for the trial, not for their belongings, not for the funerals. Peter said it would be too hard on them and young as Cora was, she wouldn’t understand. Laura, still in her rebellious stage, tried to fly back to California without Peter’s consent only to have an anxiety attack at the kiosk for her airline.

“You know about Kate then.”

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles whines and god, no one should sound that broken when they say his name.

“I was fifteen, young and stupid and naïve enough to believe someone like her loved me back.”

“We don’t, you don’t need to tell me. I, dad, oh my god, _my dad_.”

“We were on vacation. Peter took me and my sisters to Colorado for spring break as a favor to my mother. We didn’t even know what had happened until the hotel staff knocked on the door. Laura wouldn’t talk to me and Cora couldn’t stop crying and Peter, fuck, Peter froze. The manager was trying to explain what had happened and he didn’t make a sound.”

Derek remembers every second of that night. He remembers Cora gripping his arm so tightly it bruised. He remembers Laura slapping him across the cheek before hugging herself around their younger sister. He remembers Peter asking if there were any survivors and the horrid look on the manager’s face when she said no.

Even now the memory makes him feels like curling into a ball and hiding from the world.

“It was my fault.”

It’s a fact that he will never stop believing and nothing anyone says can change that. Not Laura or Peter or Cora. Not Isaac, Erica, or Boyd. Not the therapists he’s seen over the years. Not Stiles, who, judging by the way he’s watching Derek, is going to try.

“Derek.”

“She knew I wouldn’t be there and she burned my house to the ground with my family locked inside.”

Something scoots across the hardwood floor and when Derek looks up from his lap, Stiles is standing in front of him. He’s crying, though Derek doesn’t know why, hands balled into fists.

“You don’t have to tell me, you don’t need to explain yourself. I know the facts and I know _exactly_ what that bitch did. Fuck, everyone in Beacon Hills knows what she did. But she paid, Derek, and she’s going to rot in jail for the rest of her life.” He reaches for Derek’s hands, gripping them between him own even as they shake. “You know that.”

“Stiles.”

“C’mon.” Derek looks up at him, desperately trying not to break down in front of the first person he’s told about his family in nearly five years. “Get up.”

“Why?”

“Because we are not having this conversation in here.” Stiles tugs him upwards, nails biting at the palms of his hands. “Please.”

Derek allows Stiles to guide him into the living room and sit him in the middle of the couch. The kid sits down on his left, cross legged and facing him, taking his left hand into his own. He doesn’t speak, just waits patiently for Derek to talk. “Only if you want to,” he says as the silence draws on. Derek twines their fingers.

He can do this.

It’s a conversation he will always hate having, one that even after repeating it so many times to so many people - the police, lawyers, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, the last woman he dated - still makes his skin thrum with discomfort. Knowing that Stiles has more than likely heard the details from his father, has been told the facts of the case, probably heard Kate’s ruthless and unapologetic testimony, makes the conversation easier in some horribly ironic way. Stiles doesn’t interrupt or ask questions as Derek speaks, encouraging him to continue only with soft squeezes of his fingers.

Somewhere towards the end, Derek segues into an apology for not telling Stiles he lived in Seattle earlier. He admits he was nervous because Stiles makes him feel something he didn’t know he could feel again. Stiles shakes his head and says they can wait to talk about this. Derek runs his thumb over the knuckles of the kid’s right hand and asks if they can just talk now, since they’re sharing all their demons.

By the time they’ve hashed out everything, from the lies to where this is going to Derek promising to never keep another secret from Stiles, it’s closing in on noon. Stiles pulls his hands away from where they’re secured in Derek’s, mumbling something soft before standing. Derek’s skin feels too tight and he wrings a hand around his wrist before leaning against the back of the couch.

Stiles returns with a steaming cup of his flu medicine. When he sits down, it’s pressed against Derek’s side, wiggling until he’s as close as possible, and Derek drapes his arm around the kid’s shoulders. Stiles sips from his mug quietly, leaning his head against Derek’s shoulder.

“I have to go back to work tomorrow,” he says, breaking the silence.

“You’re still sick.”

“I don’t have any more sick days left. S’long as Finstock doesn’t force me to take night shifts for the next week I’ll be fine. Worse comes to worse, Scott can cover for me.”

Stiles finishes off his drink, leaning forward to place the cup on the table. He settles back against the cushions, squirming until he’s comfortable with his forehead pressed against Derek’s neck and fingers curled in his shirt. It’s intimate and strangely _right_. Derek slides his hand down, fingers pressed against the waistband of Stiles’ sweatpants where they rest on his hips.

“Do you think, after I’m not so gross, you’d want to get dinner?” Stiles asks, breath warm against Derek’s neck.

Derek exhales deeply and mumbles “yes” into Stiles’ hairline. Maybe it’s the exhaustion of their conversation or simply not giving a fuck about boundaries because really, there’s no going back now, but he doesn’t think twice when he presses his lips against the kid’s forehead, kissing the heated skin. Stiles pulls away only far enough away that their noses brush against each other.

The front door starts rattling then and Stiles pulls completely away before standing. Derek watches him tug at the sleeves of his hoodie nervously, halting when the door opens. There’s laughter from the foyer and Scott barrels into the living room, wrapping Stiles in a hug and lifting him into the air.

“Stiles! I missed you, bro!”

“Me too, bud, now put me down. We have a guest.”

Scott sets his stepbrother down reluctantly, looking around him to where Derek is still sitting on the couch. “Mom said you shouldn’t be contagious anymore so I’m here to take care of you,” Scott says, sizing Derek up with a less than subtle once over as he crosses his arms. Stiles elbows him, rolling his eyes when Scott refuses to stop glaring. Derek stands, feeling out of place all of a sudden and wanting to leave.

“Scott, this is Derek. Derek, this is Scott.”

Derek extends his hand and waits for Scott to shake it. “Nice to meet you in person.”

“Nice to know you aren’t a murderer.” Scott doesn’t move from his place next to Stiles and Derek retracts his hand from the air.

“Scott!” Stiles punches his best friend in the arm, ignoring to pained look the kid aims in his direction a moment later. “C’mon dude, we talked about this.”

“Yeah, well-”

“It’s fine, Stiles. I need to go anyways. I told Erica I’d be in at one and I need to grab something to eat on my way in.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles says; Scott’s pouting at him.

Derek nods at Scott who tilts his head in response before brushing by them both. He slips on his shoes, both still wet from the morning rain, turning around to say goodbye to Stiles. The kid’s face is flushed pink, hands hidden away in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Thank you, for everything this week.” Stiles shuffles forward, curling his fingers into the sleeve of Derek’s jacket. “And for telling me,” he says without mentioning what they’ve talked about because Scott is fumbling around in the kitchen, responsible for an unrelenting cacophony of noise.

“I’m sorry,” Derek replies. “I really do need to go.”

Stiles steps back, withdrawing his hand. “Let me see your phone.” Derek raises an eyebrow at him but pulls his cell from his pocket. “You aren’t leaving until you have my number.”

Stiles calls his own phone, cancelling it when something rings from the kitchen to add himself as a contact. He squeezes Derek’s fingers as he hands him his phone back, eyes glancing everywhere but his own. Derek opens the door and steps out into the hallway, saying he’ll text Stiles later. The kid nods, lingering in the threshold as Derek walks down the hallway. He never hears the door close.

When he arrives at the bookstore, Erica is sitting at the register, bickering with someone over the phone. Her face lights up when she notices Derek although it dissipates soon after. She tells the person on the phone she’ll call them back later and clambers off the stool, rounding the counter. Derek doesn’t say anything when her eyes meet his and that is the beauty of their relationship. She wraps him in a fierce hug and tucks her face into the crook of his neck.

Boyd arrives for his afternoon shift half an hour later, eying his fiancé and boss where they’re pressed close behind the register. He doesn’t say a word, just glances from Erica to Derek, and makes his way around the counter. He kisses Erica on the temple and squeezes Derek’s shoulder, asking if they want coffee from next door.

Derek spends the rest of afternoon in an unsettling funk, wanting to be anywhere but the one place he loves most in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a last minute decision to break this story into two chapters because there is a clear division between each half of the story: one is the build up and the other the aftermath.
> 
> The rest of the comments are at the end of the next chapter.
> 
> Cora names electronics after different big cat genuses.
> 
> ~~did you catch the star wars reference? i am super proud of it.~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you at the end.
> 
> 3/26/14: Finished editing this beast.

Aside from a short message sent after he closed the shop and locked the backdoor, Derek doesn’t think about contacting Stiles for several days. He feels like a coward, paranoid he’s sprung everything on Stiles way too fast. He managed to keep the family secret for a year before Isaac decided to nose around in his personal life when Cora alluded to something on accident. Erica demanded to know soon after and Boyd just happened to be within the vicinity enough that ignoring the conversation would have been rude.

Lydia doesn’t chastise him when she meets him for lunch the following Tuesday; Derek assumes Isaac is the one who filled her in on what happened. She pats the back of his hand across the table, saying ‘ _this is a good thing, Derek, for you to get your issues out now before you’re in too deep._ ’ Derek doesn’t have the heart to tell her he already is, that after spending almost five days straight with Stiles - bringing him dinner, cleaning his apartment, taking care of Stiles when the kid couldn’t take care of himself - he misses him.

The walk back to the store is quiet, Lydia's arm looped through his. She pulls away when they reach the entrance, shaking her keys in the direction of the sleek BMW parked against the curb, squeezing his forearm between her small fingers. Derek thanks her softly and heads inside, reprieving Isaac from watching the shop alone.

It’s Thursday afternoon when his phone whistles at him. Derek lets it sit for an hour, busy walking the newest addition to the store through where everything is located in the storage room. He’s sure Boyd has already shown the kid but there’s no harm in repetition.

A group of undergraduate students wander in from the cold, scarves wrapped around their necks; it’s earlier than normal to be this chilly in September. Derek tells them to check out the second floor where Erica created a new ‘ _just in_ ’ display. One of the girls in the group shoots him a wide smile and dawdles behind her friends.

Derek reaches for his phone, sitting on the shelf below the register, and turns it on. Stiles’ name and a small box previewing part of his message grace the locked screen. Derek enters the password and opens the message, stomach doing somersaults as his he waits.

All the text message says is ‘ _are you free tonight?_ ’ Derek’s fingers hover over the keyboard before he types out his reply, ‘ _no, i’ve got weekly dinner with isaac_ ’, and he sets his phone down. It’s the truth, it is, not that Isaac would mind if someone important to Derek tagged along. Lydia’s been to a few of their dinners recently and all Derek would have to do is ask. He hits send before he has time to regret it.

The phone whistles again half an hour later; all Stiles says is ‘ _bummer._ ’ Derek debates cancelling on Isaac but this would make the second week in a row. There is noise from the second floor, loud giggling that’s distorted by the staircase, and Derek sighs. The new kid is nowhere to be seen, probably hiding in the storage room. Derek sets his phone down next to the register and climbs the staircase to find out what the commotion is about.

He regrets it a minute later when the girl who smiled at him inches her way into his space as he reaches something on a high shelf for her. She has a predatory glint in her eye that’s reminiscent of Kate and Derek politely steps away from her. Her friends either can’t read the social cues that he’s not interested or are completely ignorant but they all start spouting questions at the same time, asking for recommendations or if he can show them where books are located.

When they finally leave, Derek makes out with a little over one hundred fifty dollars and two phone numbers. He places the money in the register, glancing up when the bell chimes and whatsherface walks in. She forces a grin before heading to backroom to drop her things off. When she returns to the register a few minutes later, the new kid tagging along after her, she asks if they have been busy. Derek replies ‘ _no_ ’, grabs his phone, and steps in the storage room.

He’s lying across his desk, on top of piling invoices and the timecards he needs to tally up, when his phone whistles again. It’s a text message from a number he doesn’t recognize but ten to one it’s Scott; unless Stiles told his father exactly who Derek is, no one else with a Beacon Hills area code would be texting him.

To his expectance, Scott has texted him with a direct threat: ‘ _I don’t care what you have to do, make it up to him or so help me god, I will send the Sheriff your cell phone number so he can run a background check on you._ ’ Derek wonders if Stiles told him he’s a Hale. He replies - ' _stay out of it, scott, no one asked you_ ' - before opening the conversation with Stiles again.

‘ _what about saturday? i’m free all day if you want to get lunch or something._ ’ is what he settles on. Almost immediately, his phone whistles twice. Scott texted him back ‘ _asshole_ ’ while Stiles sent a sad face emoticon followed by ‘ _i work all day but how about dinner? there’s this thai place close to home that i want to try._ ’ Derek agrees, asking when and where to meet. Stiles must get a call because it’s twenty minutes before he gets a response: ‘ _cool, be at my place around six saturday night._ ’

Scott texts him again a minute later and Derek can almost hear the sarcastic tone in his head. ‘ _Oh god, whatever you said got him all excited. Now he won’t shut up._ ’ Derek grins smugly and for the first time in a week, he isn’t afraid Stiles regrets everything.

\- - -

Saturday proves to test his patience. For being his day off and the one day a week he’s allowed to relax, he can’t seem to. He goes for a run in the morning and comes back to his apartment in rapidly cooling sweat and still full of energy. During lunch he calls Laura to keep himself busy, asking if she wants to come out to Seattle for Christmas this year instead of the other way around. Laura mumbles over the speaker, apologizing a moment later with a firm ‘ _no_ ’ and telling Derek to purchase his ticket already. Apparently Cora’s already booked her flight, but then Cora’s always been the most punctual of the three Hale siblings.

In the afternoon, Erica drops by to rifle through the library in the spare bedroom, using the key Derek gave to her in case of emergencies only. She is in and out in fifteen minutes, arms full of books when she dips over the back of the recliner Derek bought two years ago to kiss his hair. He waves a hand above his head to ward her away and she giggles as she slips out the front door.

Four comes around and Derek spends half an hour pacing in front of his closet. He doesn’t really have a reason to be as nervous as he is: Stiles wants to see him even though he knows Derek’s little (big) secret. That is a good thing, it has to be. It is a hurdle he would have rather waited to jump but their relationship isn’t exactly conventional anyways.

Still, it makes him nervous.

After pulling on three different pairs of jeans and five different shirts, he settles on a cobalt blue v-neck and grey slim cut jeans. It’s a little too cold outside for the t-shirt but then again, he has always run warm. He grabs a pair of sneakers before turning the light off, closing the door and exiting his room. He tosses his shoes against the front door and slumps down in the recliner again, checking his watch.

Ten minutes later he stands, takes a deep breath, and plucks his leather jacket, his favorite of the three he owns because the sleeves are just a little too long, off the coat rack, pulling it on before glancing around his apartment. He closes locks the door and heads for the stairs instead of the elevator; anything that will keep him from panicking is good at this point. When he climbs into the Camaro, he cranks the music up to keep his thoughts from wandering.

The drive takes less time than he plans and he arrives eighteen minutes early. Out of nerves, he circles the block once before parking his car in a visitor’s spot. Derek heads inside, palms sweating inside the pockets of his jacket, just like the first night he was here. When knocks on the door to Stiles’ apartment, he can feel his heart pounding in his ears. A voice in his head reminds him to calm down and it sounds vaguely like Lydia of all people. He doesn’t know when or why she has become his friend along the way but he is not complaining.

The door swings open and Stiles’ face falls when he sees Derek. “Hey,” he says, running a hand through his hair; Derek feels his stomach sink. “Sorry dude, but I kind of ran late getting home and you’re early and I need to change.”

“I can leave and come back later,” he offers, turning his body towards the end of the hall.

“No!” Stiles reaches out and grabs the sleeve of Derek’s jacket, tugging it gently. “I mean, no, sorry. It’s fine. Um, come inside and I’ll go change.”

“You look fine,” Derek states as he steps into the foyer. And he does: Stiles is wearing a button up and a cardigan, jeans that look adhered to his skin, and his glasses.

Stiles glances down at his clothes, blushing. “I’m gonna go change.”

Stiles waves a hand in the direction of the living room, disappearing down the hallway. Derek turns and steps into the living room, pausing when he sees Scott staring at him. The kid’s eyebrows are knit together from where he’s seated on the couch, arms crossed. He points to the occasional chair next to him and Derek notes the tattoo wrapped around his left bicep.

“Sit,” he commands.

“Scott.”

“Sit, Derek. You and I are going to have words before you take my bestie out because you’re a fucking liar.” Oh, so Stiles told him then. “Now sit.”

Derek does as asked, sitting at the edge of the seat. Scott is still glaring although the longer he holds the expression, the less intimidating it becomes. Stiles, during one of their summertime calls, said that Scott has never been very skilled at coming off authoritative because he’s a big puppy at heart. The Scott sitting on the couch grits his teeth and jabs a finger at Derek none the less and Derek inherently knows what’s coming.

“Stiles told you.”

“You’re goddamn right he told me, Hale,” and the way Scott says his name comes across like a curse.

“I don’t see how this effects you, Scott.”

“Because he’s my best friend and I don’t want to see him get hurt. Look, I know what, I remember hearing about your family. And I remember the fire.”

“I don’t remember you.”

Scott drops his arms and shakes his head. “I don’t expect you to. We lived on the other side of town and I was just young enough to not be in school with Cora.” Scott sighs, “Stiles told me she’s at UC Davis now.”

“The point, Scott.”

“I know you’ve had a hard life, okay? But that doesn’t excuse you from lying to Stiles or avoiding him for the past week, asshat.”

Derek snorts and Scott flips him the bird. “Mature, McCall.”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t plan on doing that again, okay?” Derek says, staring at his feet. “Telling someone about my past isn’t something I typically enjoy or do that often. The last time I told someone it scared her off.”

Which is true. Jennifer went two years before asking and when he finally told her what happened, she said ‘ _huh. So that’s why you’ve never told me you love me._ ’ Three days later they broke up and he hasn't heard from her since.

“Stiles doesn’t scare easy. There are very few things that scare him, actually.” A wisp of a smile comes across Scott’s face, one that is full of affection. “Except his dad getting hurt. Or his baby dying. Or parrotfish.”

“Parrotfish?” Derek asks, one eyebrow arching over the other. Scott just shrugs.

“They’re unnatural, Derek,” Stiles says as he walks back into the room. “Their teeth look human and it’s super unsettling.”

Derek nods, hardly processing the words coming out of Stiles' mouth. Instead he’s focused on what he’s wearing: a soft looking off-white tee, a plaid green checkered long sleeve shirt, and a tight pair of jeans. His glasses are missing too. He looks five years younger than he did ten minutes ago and Derek’s asking “how old are you” before he can help it.

Stiles just chuckles as Scott rolls his eyes. “Twenty three. Now, can we go? I skipped lunch and I’m kinda starving here.”

“Yeah.” Derek stands, straightening out the wrinkles in his shirt before turning to Scott. “Scott.”

“Derek,” he replies back, tilting his head. “Remember that our dad is a cop, okay? One call and you’ll have a state trooper-”

“Okay,” Stiles interrupts, grabbing Derek by the hand, “enough intimidating, Scotty. Be a good boy while I’m gone and go call Allison or something.”

“If you don’t come home I’m calling your dad.”

“Oh my god.”

Stiles pulls Derek with him into the foyer, fingers still gripping Derek’s. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, cheeks tinted pink as he stares down at the floor. He seems to realize he is still holding onto Derek a few seconds later, glancing up cautiously.

“I’m sorry about him. He’s, well-”

“Protective.”

“I was gonna go with annoying, but yeah, protective works too.”

“You told him my last name,” Derek says when Stiles lets go of his hand.

“Only after he asked where the _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ dvds came from.” Stiles pulls a thin jacket from the coat rack, turning it over in his hands before hanging it up again. He grabs another and slips it on, tugging it into place. “Scott grew up in Beacon Hills and he knew about your family.”

“He told me just now.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, looking towards the living room and scratching at his neck. “Scott is anything but subtle.”

Stiles turns back to Derek, eyes darting back and forth across his face. The right corner of his mouth ticks upwards as he takes a step forward, cautious when he follows it with another. Derek watches him repeat the motion until he’s right in front of him, their chests only a few inches apart. Stiles’ face is unreadable as he places his hands in the pockets of Derek’s jacket and leans forward. Their lips meet softly and Derek watches Stiles’ eyelids squeeze shut.

The kiss is tender and slightly timid, like Stiles is afraid of the consequences. Derek brings his hands up to rest on Stiles’ hips, slipping beneath his jacket and against the smooth fabric of his shirt. He can feel the way the tension drains out of Stiles, like all the pressure built up between them has suddenly lifted, and when Stiles pulls away, it’s with a smile.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing their foreheads together. “But I’ve wanted to do that for a week. Hell, I’ve wanted to do that for months. I would have the last time you were here but I didn’t want to get you sick.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Derek replies, taking in just how beautiful Stiles is as their eyes meet.

“Good,” is the only thing he says before he’s pushing Derek back against the door.

Derek doesn’t resist, wrapping his arms tight around Stiles’ waist as they kiss. It’s better than anything he imagined because Stiles is pliant and warm and pressed against him like he belongs there, kissing him like it’s his only job in the world. The tiny moan he lets out when Derek’s tongue slips into his mouth is worth the startled jump that knocks his head against the door. Stiles murmurs "sorry" against his lips and Derek grins.

“Dude, c’mon,” comes from a few feet away and Stiles whips his head around. Scott is standing in the walkway between the foyer and the kitchen, a glass in one hand and the other on his hip. “At least wait until you’re out of the apartment.”

“You’re a terrible best friend,” Stiles states, putting space between himself and Derek.

“So are you.”

Stiles makes a face at Scott until the kid throws his free hand up in the air and walks off. When he turns to Derek, it is with his pleased grin. Derek wants to kiss it off him.

“So, dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Stiles pulls at Derek’s jacket until he’s far enough away from the door to open it. “You’re driving.”

Derek nods and steps out of the apartment, Stiles following after he locks the door. They walk side by side, Stiles nudging at him when they reach the stairs. Derek opens the door and steps aside, rolling his eyes after the kid calls him _sir_. Stiles just chuckles.

When they reach the Camaro, Stiles stops dead in his tracks. “Dude,” he says, voice teetering on astonishment, “you’ve gotta stop holding out on me.”

Derek laughs and pushes Stiles towards the passenger’s side.

It’s another ten minutes before they get in the car - Stiles wants to know how old it is and how much it cost and whether Derek’s ever had sex with anyone on its hood or trunk - and their “date” actually begins. Derek can’t complain, not when Stiles reaches over the gear stick and twines their fingers together as he chatters about his day at work. When they arrive at the Thai restaurant, Stiles leans over the center console and kisses Derek once more, claiming it’s for research. Derek in return says ‘ _only because it’s for science_ ’ and Stiles starts laughing so hard he snorts.

Their date goes well, by all standards. Stiles orders dinner for them because Derek’s never had Thai before: Isaac can’t stand too many spices and neither can Cora. Derek talks about the new hire as Stiles pops edamame between his lips, sucking the salt off the pods before placing them on an empty plate. He grins when he catches Derek watching his mouth, slowly licking a pod. Derek kicks him in the shin and Stiles throws the empty bean pod at his face.

When Derek drives them back to Stiles’ apartment, it’s barely eight. Stiles asks if Derek wants to come up and watch a movie, cheeks flushed pink in the yellow glow from the interior overhead lights of the Camaro. He quickly realizes the context of what he’s asked before waving his hands frantically in front of his chest, saying Scott is still there and “oh my god, I didn’t mean it like that, I swear, I’m not that easy.” Derek just reaches over the center console, wraps a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, and kisses him mid ramble.

“Go report back to Scott, Stiles. He’s probably waiting for you,” Derek says against Stiles’ lips. The kid bites Derek’s bottom lip between his teeth, somehow managing to frown as he does it. He pulls away to pop his seatbelt off, glancing between his legs and Derek’s lap. Derek watches him curiously, reaching out to turn his head when he makes a frustrated noise.

“Next time we make out in a car, it’s going to be in my Jeep,” Stiles announces, gesturing a hand above the clutch and gear stick. “I am not risking trying to climb over this shit.”

Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles glances around, like he’s suddenly concerned there might be people walking past the row of visitor’s spots the Camaro is idling in, before settling on the back seat. He smirks then, waggling his eyebrows and pointing.

Derek doesn’t even let him get the question out; he shakes his head no. “I’m not making out with you in the backseat of my car, I’m not in high school.”

Stiles tilts head to the side as he rolls his eyes. “You’re an old man,” he quips, grinning when Derek glares at him. “But that’s okay because you’ve seriously got the whole perfect scruffy sex on legs thing going for you.”

Derek kisses Stiles hard enough that his face is red with beard burn when he pulls away for air.

When Stiles finally climbs out of the car, it’s with a request that Derek plan their next outing because Stiles planned this time. He tells Derek to call and bother him at work the next day, saying Scott’s got the day off and he’ll be by himself. Derek nods alright and watches Stiles smile as he closes the passenger door and sprints inside.

He does call Stiles the next morning on his way home from the farmers market, Isaac excitedly chatting his ear off about Erica’s vehement dislike of the cost of wedding photographers. Isaac pouts as Derek leaves a voicemail, unlocking the doors to his Pathfinder before climbing in. They both place their groceries in the backseat, Derek ending the message with a simple ‘ _don’t let the man get you down_.’ It’s a reference Stiles will appreciate, seeing how the kid has, on more than one occasion, referred to his boss as "the man". 

An hour later, Derek is opening up the bookstore and his phone buzzes in his back pocket. Stiles has replied with ‘ _Finstock said you’re banned from pressing the Mayday button_ ’, although Derek doesn’t know how he’s actually accomplished that. He finds himself looking around for Sir Leopardus and realizes he hasn’t used the tablet since the day he spoke with Scott and showed up at Stiles’ doorstep. He smiles to himself, turning away from the register to unlock the front door.

The following Wednesday, Derek texts Stiles halfway through the morning, a nosy Erica leaning over his shoulder as he types the message. She ignores the soft shove of his elbow against her stomach, triumphantly smirking when she hooks her chin over his shoulder. Stiles replies within a minute, saying he’s free until nine but has to be at work by ten. Erica laughs ‘ _Oh Der, you’re never going to get laid._ ’ Derek shakes her off with a glare.

Several texts later, they agree on dinner at Derek’s apartment. He sends Stiles the address and walks away, assisting a woman looking for old copies of the _Mr. Men and Little Miss_ series. Derek directs her upstairs, leading the way and asking who the books are for. Her eyes go soft when she talks about her daughter and Derek rounds one of the stacks to find the collection of children’s books.

Erica offers to close the shop so Derek can leave early, suggestively raising her eyebrows and making lewd hand movements when she wishes him good luck. Derek threatens to fire her and she just flashes him a smarmy grin. ‘ _Tell your boy toy I say hello!_ ’ she yells as he walks into the storage room and out the back door.

\- - -

There’s a knock on the door to his apartment a little after six. Derek yells from the kitchen to "come in", his hands covered in lemon juice and rind. When he doesn’t hear the door open, he sets the peeler down and walks halfway into the living room, yelling again. This time, the door cracks open and Stiles cautiously peeks his head in.

“Hey,” he says, lips quirking up into a smile. “I couldn’t tell if that was an okay to come in or not.”

“Yeah,” Derek replies, tipping his head back toward the kitchen. “I couldn’t really come answer it.”

Stiles glances around the foyer and steps out of his shoes, dropping his keys inside one of them. “Whatcha cooking for us?” he asks as he passes by Derek, seeking out the kitchen with his nose raised in the air.

“One of the first things Laura taught me to cook.” Derek doesn’t say it was also one of his mother’s favorite dishes to make for his father. “Lemon chicken with artichoke hearts, mushrooms, and capers.”

“Oooh,” Stiles says, grinning.

Derek follows him into the kitchen, returning to the stove. Stiles shuffles around the room as he finishes adding the ingredients, folding them into the sauce before lowering the temperature to simmer. He places the lid on the skillet, sets the timer, and washes his hands. Stiles is admiring the collection of pictures on the refrigerator with a smile, caramel eyes lingering on the one held in place with a Columbia magnet.

“That is Laura and I at Cora’s graduation from high school.” Stiles turns halfway around before pointing at the photo. “She refused to let us take any pictures of her before the ceremony and stole the camera.”

“You look at lot like Laura.” Derek places an arm around Stiles’ lower back, grinning when he leans into the embrace. “You’ve got the same eyes.”

“We take after our dad,” Derek says, pointing to a different photo, one that’s worn at the edges from age. “We both got his eyes while Cora got our mom’s.”

“You three are really close, huh?” Stiles asks, fingering the edges of another picture, the newest addition. It’s from the summer when his sisters and Peter came to visit, the three of them squished onto a bench at a park on the waterfront. Cora and Laura are both laughing hysterically, hands covering their mouths as Derek looks off to the side.

“Yeah.” Derek squeezes Stiles lightly, smiling as Stiles turns toward him. “Want a tour while we wait for dinner to finish cooking?”

“Yes! I want to see this magical book collection you boasted about.” Stiles grins and unwraps Derek’s hand from where it’s settled on his hip, tugging him in the direction of the living room. “Lead the way, Mister Hale.”

The tour itself doesn’t take too long; his apartment is a little big for one person but Derek justified getting a place with a large spare room, an office, and a balcony so he would always have space just in case his friends needed somewhere to stay. Isaac still keeps some old clothes in the closet of the spare on the nights he crashes after weekly dinner. Cora’s got her own drawer of clothes in the armoire, though it’s mostly from her forgetting things in the dryer and Derek not knowing where to place them.

Stiles lingers in the spare bedroom until the timer goes off, running his fingers across the edges of the wooden bookshelves. “You would,” he says as he gestures the wall the bed is pushed against. It is composed of shelves Derek built into the drywall, each filled with rows of books. Stiles skims a hand over the spines of several John Grisham titles, chuckling to himself.

“I’ll go check on the food if you want to stay here,” Derek offers, smiling as Stiles pulls one of the books from the shelf. “I’ll call for you when it’s ready.”

“Okay.”

Derek walks back to the kitchen and silences the timer before removing the lid off the skillet. The aroma of cooked artichokes fills the room as he stirs the contents of the pan and turns the heat off. He opens the microwave and pulls a bowl full of cooked pasta out, setting it down on the counter. Stiles comes wandering back into the kitchen whistling.

“That smells delicious,” he says licking his lips.

“Come get a plate. We can eat at the table.”

“Okeydokey.”

Stiles steps to the left of Derek, taking the plate he offers him grinning. He leans over and kisses the corner of Derek’s mouth, pulling away to serve himself. Derek can feel the back of his neck heat, glancing down at the food instead of at Stiles who has decided the best place to hold his fork is between his lips.

They eat dinner with minimal conversation, Stiles making obliviously inappropriate noises every few bites. Derek wonders if he’s always vocal when he eats and starts blushing at the idea. Stiles squints at him with a mouth full of fusilli, grumbling incoherently. Derek shakes his head and tells him to swallow before he speaks. At that, Stiles quirks one eyebrow up and slurps his pasta into his mouth, smirking.

When they are done, Derek places the dishes in the sink and sets the rest of the food in the fridge. Stiles calls him into the living room, already curled up on the loveseat. Derek sinks down on the end of the couch next to the loveseat, sighing. Stiles makes a frustrated noise, stands, and nudges Derek to move over with his foot. He does so with his eyes closed, way past full with food and suddenly tired.

That only lasts for a second though: Stiles plops down on his lap, straddling his thighs. His eyes shoot open to find Stiles grinning, cheeks dusted pink.

“Hi,” he says, fingers splayed against Derek’s chest.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks, placing his own hands on Stiles’ thighs.

“Well,” Stiles chuckles, dragging his pointer finger in a spiral across Derek’s pec. “I was going to opt for making out but that would require your full attention and I’m not sure I have that.”

“Oh really?” Derek asks, hooking his hands behind Stiles’ knees.

Stiles' blush spreads down his neck almost instantly, eyes going dark. “Maybe,” he mumbles, raising his arms to rest them across Derek’s shoulders. “Care to prove me wrong?”

Derek just grins as he leans forward to close the space between them. Stiles whimpers into it, eyebrows knit together. Derek sucks his bottom lip between his own and pulls Stiles closer by the back of his thighs. When Stiles gasps, Derek slips his tongue into his mouth, reveling in the way Stiles clamps his thighs in and wraps his arms tightly around Derek’s neck.

It’s vastly different than the other kisses they’ve shared, purposefully harsh and intently zealous. Stiles winds his fingers through Derek’s hair, gripping it between his fingers to pull him even closer. Derek can hear him breathing hard through his nose, neither wanting to be the one to pull away. Stiles sucks to tip of Derek’s tongue into his mouth and Derek groans.

His hands wander from their grip on Stiles’ thighs, one sliding beneath Stiles’ shirt to press against his lower back, and the other wrapped around his neck. Stiles shudders and pushes his hips down and forward, tongue sliding into Derek’s mouth. Despite the overwhelming taste of lemon, artichokes, and chicken, Derek can faintly taste coffee on the kid’s breath.

When they finally part, both are panting. Stiles presses their foreheads together, loosening his grip on Derek’s hair. He can’t see Stiles expression - his eyes are still squeezed shut - but he can feel the puffs of breath against his lips and the way heat is radiating from his cheeks. Derek tries to inhale and exhale deeply once, blinking his eyes open slowly.

The only way to describe the way Stiles looks is _gorgeous_. His lips are red and kiss swollen, corners wet with saliva. His eyes are heavy lidded, irises hidden behind thick eyelashes. Derek nudges him with his nose, dipping down to push his chin up. Stiles finally opens his eyes all the way, smiling. He leans forward only to pull back quickly, turn his head, and burp.

“Oh my god,” he says, voice cracking.

Derek tilts his head back and laughs until his stomach hurts, Stiles pushing at his shoulders and telling him to stop. Eventually he tires of the mocking and slides off Derek’s lap, crossing his arms and glaring petulantly.

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles says, face hot with embarrassment. “That could have been in your mouth.”

When he doesn’t stop laughing, Stiles grabs one of the throw pillows and uses it to hit Derek in the head. Derek catches his breath when the pillow collides with his temple, smile disappearing. Stiles takes it as a sign of retaliation and sniggers.

For being almost thirty, Derek finds the pillow fight that ensues is actually rather fun.

After they’ve settled, both with hair in disarray and panting again, Derek pulls Stiles flush against his side and shoves the remote into his hand. “You can stay until nine, right?” Stiles digs his elbow into Derek’s ribs and begins flipping through channels.

Derek drifts off somewhere around eight, waking up when Stiles maneuvers his way out of Derek’s grip. “I gotta go to work, Der,” he says, pressing a feather light kiss to his nose. “I’ll see you this weekend, yeah?”

“Mm hmm,” Derek replies, smiling when he hears Stiles make a noise of content. “Definitely.”

There is another kiss placed on his forehead and then the sound of the apartment door closing. Derek slumps across the couch, nuzzling his face against a pillow. He drowsily realizes the fabric smells like Stiles before he yawns and falls asleep.

\- - -

There are two more dates between then and Cora’s fall break, one spent at the movies and another at Derek’s bookstore. Scott tags along on both on the premise of ‘ _we’ve been planning to see this movie together for months so deal_ ’ and ‘ _I want to make sure you’re not actually dragging him off to a dungeon._ ’ Derek would complain, but Stiles gets this ebullient tone in his voice when he yells through the speaker of his phone about when he and Scott have the night off.

The two best friends are waiting outside the movie theater when Derek arrives, kicking their legs back and forth on a bench. Stiles is gesticulating something, Scott nodding along before seeing Derek. He tilts his head towards Derek, Stiles following the motion. His face lights up as he stands, skipping across the concrete as Derek steps up from the street onto the sidewalk.

He doesn’t expect Stiles to kiss him as a greeting but he does, hands wrapping around his neck. Derek doesn’t have a chance to kiss back, a little stunned. Stiles looks back at Scott, who is scowling like someone took away his favorite toy. ‘ _You two are gross_ ’ he says, shaking his head as he stalks inside the lobby of the movie theater.

Stiles completely withdraws himself, rolling back on his heels with a grin. ‘ _Holla_ ’ he chirps. ‘ _Scott banned PDA during the movie but he said nothing about prior._ ’ Derek finally recovers enough to roll his eyes and put his face in his palm. Stiles laughs and tugs his hands away, linking their fingers as he pulls them towards the doors. ‘ _C’mon Der, in my magnanimous nature I bought your ticket and I think deserve a little something to eat in return, hmm?_ ’

He talks Derek into popcorn, soda, a box of Snowcaps and a bag of Twizzlers, grinning at him crookedly as Derek hands over two twenties to the bored looking cashier.

It’s easy to find Scott in the theater; he’s procured three seats in the middlemost row, jacket thrown over the two to his right. Stiles hops up the stairs, plopping down next to his step-brother. Scott looks up from his phone and grabs the soda, taking a sip. Stiles pats the seat on his right, taking the popcorn from Derek.

The two roommates fall into chatter about something or other, Scott groaning when Stiles states he has five years of payback to catch up on. Derek quirks an eyebrow before opening the bag of Twizzlers, plucking one from the bundle. ‘ _I thought you and Allison have been together since you were sixteen_ ’ he interrupts. Scott grimaces.

Stiles told Derek, in detail, about Scott’s epic/tumultuous/chaotic/sickeningly sweet relationship with Allison during the summer. At the time, Derek had no idea who she was; Stiles said she hadn’t moved to Beacon Hills until they were sophomores and Scott never stood a chance against someone with her dimples. Knowing now that she is Kate’s niece should be weird. It should make him uncomfortable to know a relative of the woman who slaughtered his family is person Scott has declared as the love of his life.

‘ _We broke up after high school for two years and got back together before junior year of undergrad_ ’ Scott bites out, reaching over Stiles to steal one of Derek’s Twizzlers. ‘ _I don’t want to talk about it._ ’ Stiles pats Scott on the forearm. He freezes a moment later, turning to Derek with a concerned look. ‘ _Derek_ ’ he mouths and his expression shifts, reminiscent of the morning of their “talk”.

Derek sighs, shaking his head, and covers Stiles’ hand with his own, squeezing it lightly where he is twisting the fabric of his jeans. ‘ _It’s okay_ ’ he says, emphasizing it with another squeeze.

He’s never met Allison and honestly has no idea if he ever will. But Stiles talks about her fondly and lovingly, like she’s family too. Derek doesn’t, _can’t_ , in good consciousness associate this girl he’s never met to be the same as the women who took his family away.

The look they exchange must last longer than he realizes, breaking when Scott barks at them to get a room. Stiles turns in his seat and nuzzles his best friend’s shoulder, declaring that he’ll always and forever be his bestest bestie and bro. Scott tries to shove him away with a hand in his face and Stiles wraps both arms around Scott’s arm, laughing.

They quibble back and forth while advertisements run on the screen, conversation lost on Derek. He is about to ask why they are bickering about pomegranates when he notices a woman down the row scowling at them. He nudges Stiles, who turns to him, then nods towards the woman. He and Scott, in all their subtlety, both turn their heads. A silent exchange and mischievous grin later, all three are staring at her with blank gazes. She looks away, arms crossed and lips pursed. Scott puts his hand up for a high five and Stiles hits his palm so hard there is a loud smack.

By the end of the movie and following discussion about the pros and cons of nothing endings, Derek comes to the realization of just how close Stiles and Scott are. They mimic each other’s stances often and constantly interrupt one another when talking yet still manage to propel conversation forward. They are also tactile, hitting the other’s arms or kicking at their feet with practiced grace.

Scott says he’ll meet Stiles at the car, tired of lingering outside in the dreary Seattle weather. He offers Derek a slightly warmer goodbye than he did last time, even waving without an eye roll. Stiles apparently considers it a win and crows. Derek calls him ridiculous. Stiles just spins on the ball of his foot and pulls Derek in for a kiss.

A few days later marks Stiles’ first visit to the bookstore. There’s something intimate about letting him into the place Derek considers sacred and it makes him nervous as he waits for Stiles to arrive. Isaac is milling around downstairs as Derek reorganizes the cooking shelves on the second floor when the bell chimes. He knows it’s Stiles by a loud whistle.

The stairs creak as Stiles climbs them. Derek can’t see him from where he is hidden between two tall bookcases but knows Stiles is there when he hears a telltale chuckle. The kid sidles up behind him, wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist. He kisses a bare patch of skin on the nape of his neck, grinning against the skin when he says ‘ _hi._ ’ Derek sets the cookbook in his hands down and turns around.

Stiles greets him with a proper kiss then, something Derek is beginning to realize Stiles does at the beginning of all their dates. Derek pulls away before it can get heated, asking if Stiles wants a tour. Stiles nods eagerly, spinning on his heels in the direction of the staircase. Derek shakes his head and places a hand on Stiles’ lower back, guiding him to the first row of books that are visible when stepping off the stairs.

Out of habit, he fixes things as Stiles browses through the second floor of the store, pausing to reorganize displays or leaving Stiles momentarily to place books back where they belong. Stiles doesn’t complain; he’s wanders through the stacks slowly, dragging his fingertips across the spines until he finds something that interests him. By the time they’ve made it through the used section of the store, Stiles has five books in his arms.

Downstairs, Isaac and Scott are chatting animatedly about lacrosse. Derek told Stiles in a text message that Scott reminded him a lot of Isaac and they both banked on the two getting along since Scott insisted on tagging along today. They don’t notice when Derek directs Stiles through the door to the backroom, nor when it clicks shut behind them.

Stiles meanders again, setting his books down on the edge of Derek’s desk. While most of the room is storage, there’s an entire bookcase devoted to holds. Stiles smirks and thumbs through several of the books with hold slips, judging people on their taste in literature. Derek rolls his eyes and pulls Stiles away from the shelf.

Without so much as an indication as to what he wants, Derek crowds Stiles against the front of his desk, backing the kid up until his thighs hit the edge. Stiles’ eyes go dark, already dim in the yellow light from the lamp on the desk, and he licks his lips. He lifts himself onto the desk with ease, pulling Derek along with him, hooks his fingers in the belt loops of Derek’s jeans and tugs them forward so Derek is standing between his legs.

The kiss that follows is all tongue, intense and hot and messy. Derek yanks Stiles forward to the edge of his desk, not caring that he scatters papers and a cup full of pens across the floor, until Stiles' thighs are pressed against his own. Stiles moans and grabs at Derek through his clothes, hands running over his stomach until they slip into the back pockets of his jeans. Derek groans when Stiles squeezes his ass, causing him to rock his hips forward.

It continues that way for a few more minutes, loud kisses filling the silence of the backroom, harsh breaths indubitably loud. They’re both hard in their jeans, rocking their hips forward at an increasing rate. Derek bites a bruise into Stiles’ neck when the kid tilts his head back, lip caught between his teeth. He licks at his mark as the skin darkens, blood rising to the surface. Stiles keens then and grabs at Derek’s belt.

He gets the buckle undone and stops at the button of Derek’s jeans, blinking up at him through hooded eyelids and dark eyelashes. He’s beautiful, Derek thinks, pupils dilated and lips cherry red, fingernails scratching lightly against the trail of hair that leads from his navel to his dick. Derek nods and surges forward to kiss Stiles again, hands wrapping around his neck.

Before Stiles can get his jeans open, however, the door to the backroom starts rattling. Derek pulls away to glance over his shoulder, thankful he remembered to lock it. Someone starts pounding on it then, asking if Derek is alright. There’s a pause followed by a single thud. ‘ _You two are totally screwing around back there, aren’t you?_ ’ Isaac asks, voice partially muffled.

More bangs follow, an irate Scott shouting threats. Derek just sighs and presses his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles starts laughing, upper body shaking as he tries to control it. While they both calm their breathing, Scott continues with his threats, though Isaac seems to be attempting to calm them. Derek pulls away from Stiles to buckle his belt only when he’s confident Isaac won’t give him shit for having a boner, kissing him apologetically before walking between two of the fullest shelves in the storage room.

Scott still has his hands up in the air when the door swings open; he’s glaring, eyebrows furrowed. To his left Isaac looks sympathetic, shoulders shrugged as though to indicate he tried. Stiles appears at his side a moment later, books cradled in his arms. He beams at Scott and Isaac before nudging Derek with his elbow, asking if he qualifies for a discount on his purchases since he’s dating the owner.

The rest of the afternoon goes quickly, Stiles and Scott leaving before Boyd comes in to relieve Isaac. When Derek gets home, there are two text messages and an email waiting for him on his phone. Cora’s forwarded him her flight’s itinerary, a short note at the top saying she’ll catch a cab to his apartment since she gets in while Derek will be at work.

The two text messages are from Scott and Stiles, the newest from Scott. Derek has to read it twice, not understanding why Scott would be yelling at him in capital letters that Stiles had to go the warehouse and find a scarf. It only makes sense when he opens Stiles’ text, a picture attached with the caption ‘ _look what you did, asshole._ ’ The picture is of Stiles’ neck, a maroon welt in the exact place Derek bit at when they were in the storage room. Derek smirks to himself, saves the picture to his phone’s memory card, and replies with a smug ‘ _i hope you picked out a scarf that compliments your eyes._ ’

\- - -

Cora’s visit is, by all standards, as normal as can be. She arrives on Thursday morning, shooting Derek a text to let him know when she gets to the apartment. She sends another half an hour later in honest astonishment over the spare bedroom being habitable. A couple hours after that she takes it back; all Derek did was move the books piling on the bed in spare into his office.

Dinner is a family affair, Isaac, Boyd and Erica included. Instead of cooking, Erica talks them into Buffalo Wild Wings. Between them they split three pitchers of beer and a couple dozen boneless chicken wings. Erica starts yelling at one of the televisions in their periphery because her alma mater - Isaac’s and Boyd’s too - is getting pummeled in football by a team that belongs to the Pac 12.

Cora asks when she gets to meet Stiles after she’s polished off a fourth beer, face tinted pink. She’s always held her liquor well, much to Laura’s chagrin, though it’s clear to Derek that any more alcohol will make her lose her composure. Erica pauses mid curse, fist still in the air when she turns to Derek with a toothy smirk. Both girls continue to stare at him until he sighs, pulling his phone out to text Stiles. To his right Isaac whines about how it’s not fair that Derek gets to make out with people in the shop when he’s not allowed to. Boyd snorts and Isaac flips him off.

The next morning Cora tags along with Derek to the bookstore, spreading out a pile of journal articles, her laptop, and Lady Prionailurus on his desk in the backroom. She spends most of the day there, headphones in her ears so no one coming and going out of the room will bother her. She emerges around two with her coat on, saying she’ll be back after she finds something to eat.

Erica comes in a few minutes later, phone pressed to her ear. When she sees Derek sitting behind the register, she grins widely. “Yeah, he’s here. I don’t, well, hold on,” she says, placing a finger over the speaker. “Derek, Lydia wants to talk to you.”

“Do I even want to know why you two have each other’s numbers?”

Erica shrugs and slides her cellphone across the counter. “Someone’s got to tell her all of Isaac’s embarrassing stories and it certainly won’t be Boyd. Talk to your lawyer, I’m going to go clock in.”

Derek sighs and picks the phone up. “Lydia.”

“You didn’t tell me the family meet and greet with Stiles is tonight, Hale.” Derek frowns and rubs at his face; he knew he shouldn’t have asked Stiles if he wanted to meet Cora. “I thought we were friends.”

“Oh?”

Lydia clicks her tongue over the line and Derek can imagine the apathetic expression she’s wearing. “Associates then,” she huffs. “Isaac said he met Stiles earlier this week.”

“And?”

“Well, I want to meet the kid who has had you wound tight for months.”

“He hasn’t-" Derek begins to protest, stopping halfway through the sentence. Lydia’s laugh indicates she knows he agrees with her. “Not tonight. After Cora leaves.”

“I’ll keep you to that, Derek. Now, tell me what you have planned.”

Derek’s plans are rather simple: Stiles is going to come over to his apartment to meet Cora and have dinner. In all honestly it’s too soon to be introducing him to family but Cora was adamant on meeting Stiles. It’s probably a little too soon to be introducing Stiles to his friends period because they haven’t really talked about it. That’s the reason Erica isn’t allowed to come to dinner: she’s intimidating enough on her own, let alone teamed with the youngest of the Hale siblings.

Seven comes quickly that night. Cora’s lounging on the couch, reading a copy of _On the Origin of Species_ that has seen better days. Derek is placing the crust of the pizza he’s made into the oven when there’s a knock at the door. He shuts the oven with his hip, wipes his hands on a towel hanging on the handle, and heads to the front of his apartment.

Stiles is waiting in the hallway, looking nervous. He forces a grin and steps through the threshold when Derek ushers him inside. He peers around what he can see of the hallway and the living room, ducking his head down when Cora tilts her head in his direction. She doesn’t seem to notice him however and pulls her legs onto the couch as she readjusts her position.

“Hi,” Stiles finally says, pulling a bottle of wine of his coat. “I didn’t know what to bring and Scott told me wine was the best route to take when trying to woo someone’s family.”

Derek takes the bottle before leaning into Stiles space, kissing him softly. Stiles sighs into it, relaxing as he places a hand on Derek’s hip. When he pulls away, he’s blushing but a little less tense. 

“I’ll stick this in the fridge - I don’t think wine will go well with pizza. But thank you, I’m sure Cora will like it.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something but Cora’s yelling from the living room then, book set down in her lap, simpering with her head tilted to the side. “I’ll drink anything, Dee. Stiles, get your butt in here.”

“Oh god,” Stiles whispers, stepping out of his shoes.

“Breathe,” Derek replies, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles' temple and nudging him into the other room. “She’s not nearly as scary as she seems.”

“Says the man who let his little sister bully him into owning a Kindle.” Stiles sighs and rolls his shoulders back. “Wish me luck.”

“You’ve talked to her before, Stiles.”

“That was different, completely one hundred percent different.”

“You can leave,” Derek offers; Stiles being uncomfortable around his sister is the last thing he wants. Stiles just shakes his head, adjusts his glasses, and takes a deep breath.

To Cora’s credit, she at least lets Stiles get comfortable on the loveseat before beginning her interrogation. Derek misses most of the exchange between his sister and Stiles while he adds the toppings to the pizza, marinara, fresh mozzarella and basil on one side and mushrooms and olives on the other. He walks into the living room with the timer in his hand, catching the tail end of the same question Cora asked Erica upon meeting her.

“Marvel or DC.”

Derek sinks onto the loveseat next to Stiles, putting his face in his palm. He groans and Cora glares.

“Marvel or DC, Stiles.”

“Are we talking comics or film franchises?”

And oh, this is not the route Erica took.

“Comics.”

“DC hands down, Batman is my hero.”

Cora squints her eyes and leans over the arm rest. “And movie franchise?”

“Marvel, all the way Marvel. You cannot watch a movie like _The Avengers_ and then say _Superman Returns_ or _Man of Steel_ are better.”

Cora grins and turns to Derek. “You picked a good one, big bro,” she says, tilting her head towards Stiles.

“Thanks?”

“Wait, was that a test?” Stiles interjects. “You’re judging my character on whether I like DC or Marvel better?”

Derek has never been so happy to hear the timer go off.

\- - -

To say Cora and Stiles get along is an understatement. She says as much when Stiles leaves the apartment with a slice of pizza in a plastic bag for Scott and grin on his lips. ‘ _He’s quirky_ ’ is her answer when Derek asks why. It’s as much as he can get out of her before she goes searching for Sir Leopardus since Stiles mentioned in the two times he’s been in the apartment, he’s never seen the fateful tablet.

Cora calls Laura over Skype while Derek cleans the kitchen, asking their big sister if she knows about Stiles too. Laura starts screeching over the speaker, calling Derek by his full name in a scolding tone. Derek starts the dishwasher and pretends he can’t hear her chastising him.

By morning he has one angry email from Laura, one short one from Peter telling him congratulations on the new boyfriend, and one from Lydia concerning a complaint she filed on his behalf over the misuse of the parking lot behind the bookstore by one of the neighboring shops. Cora’s wearing her shit eating grin when Derek trudges into the kitchen, pushing a steaming mug of coffee across the table. Derek tells her she’s the worst. The comment brushes off her like nothing: she bites at a piece of turkey bacon and asks if Derek will read through the introduction of her thesis if he has time.

In the afternoon, Derek drives them to the Seattle Aquarium. Cora always insists on visiting the touristy parts of the city when she flies in from Davis because her brother never complains; he rarely ventures out to those attractions unless he has to entertain her. The benefit to working in the University District is the plethora of restaurants, stores, and parks within walking distance from the bookstore.

Stiles meets them at the entrance, face flushed red from the cold. Cora chides at him for not waiting inside, pushing him towards the door. Derek just flashes him a grin, following.

When the worker at the ticket kiosk asks Derek if he’s chaperoning a date, finger pointing back and forth between Stiles and Cora, two things happen: Cora rolls her eyes at a magnitude even Peter would be proud of and Stiles’ jaw drops. The guy behind the counter slides their tickets over with a receipt, fingers brushing against Derek’s when he picks them up. Stiles says ‘ _oh fuck no_ ’ loud enough the group of moms and their children in line behind them all gasp. Derek doesn’t have time to apologize before Stiles is kissing him so hard their teeth clack together. The moms start whispering then and Stiles pulls away with a smug grin on his lips. Cora shouts at them to stop making a scene. The ticket guy is beet red and staring at the counter when Stiles twines his fingers with Derek’s and tugs him in the direction of Cora.

It’s a good thing Derek doesn’t frequent the aquarium more than once every few years because he’s pretty sure Stiles has just scandalized them into _never_ being allowed back.

Once the embarrassment has worn off and Derek’s thoughts return to normal, he realizes Stiles isn’t holding his hand anymore. The kid is walking ahead with Cora, in step with her as they approach one of the touch pools. Stiles’ hands are waving in the air above the tank, Cora nodding along as he rambles facts about the animals in the water. Cora points towards a display on moon jellies, a wide smile coming across her lips.

Even before the fire, Cora had always been scientist in the family. Where Laura liked looking after her younger siblings and cousins, and Derek buried his nose in book after book, Cora would roam the woods in search of animals. Not that Derek disliked nature, the opposite actually, but he’d never had the passion that his younger sister had to question why animals adapted to their surroundings the way they did. When she announced she was going to apply only to colleges with outstanding ecology programs, Derek wasn’t surprised.

It’s fascinating to watch though, the way and she and Stiles linger in front of each exhibit, spouting facts to one another. Derek doesn’t mind being left out; he wouldn’t have anything to contribute anyways. Cora glances over her shoulder when Stiles claps his hands together and intones something about one of the sea otters having a pup, nose wrinkling as she smiles.

Cora leaves them standing in front of the underwater viewing area of the sea otter exhibit to check out the harbor seals. They’re alone for the moment, a few of the other visitors wandering in and back out when they realize the otters are milling around on the surface. Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist and squeezes, Stiles mimicking him as he tells Derek how the top-down effect of sea otter presence in an ecosystem can cascade down through sea urchins and effect kelp forests. At the end of his explanation, Derek asks how Stiles knows as much as he does about marine biology.

Stiles cracks a shy smile, turning his head toward Derek. ‘ _My mom always had this dream of studying gray whales and I got indoctrinated into marine biology when I was young_ ’ he says, resting his forehead against Derek’s temple. ‘ _We lived in Colorado before moving to California so I didn’t really get it until the winter before she got sick and she took me to the beach. I remember complaining about the cold and missing the chance to hang out with Scott but then we saw them, this mom and calf, half a mile offshore._ ’ Stiles laughs softly and bumps his nose against Derek’s cheek. ‘ _I minored in biology at Stanford. That’s why I know as much as I do about fish and marine mammals._ ’

‘ _Did you ever think about a career in it?_ ’ Derek asks, eyes glued to the otter that keeps darting back and forth across the glass. Stiles shakes his head no and sighs. ‘ _Let’s talk about this later, okay? Cora’s probably waiting for us._ ’ Stiles steps slightly away before Derek catches his eyes. He leans forward, kissing him tenderly. Stiles returns it with a level of ease they haven’t shared before, smiling when he pulls away. He slips his hand into Derek’s and motions to the exit of the darkened alcove.

Cora tells him she gives it a month, two tops, before one of them drops the "l bomb" when they’re back in the privacy of the Camaro. Derek can feel the blush spread across the back of his neck and ears. His sister just laughs and demands a coffee stop on the way home.

Derek spends the better part of that night reading through Cora’s thesis. Isaac drops by after a date with Lydia, grinning stupidly. Cora asks for all the details and Isaac enthusiastically obliges. Scott texts him around eleven and Derek opens the message half expecting it to be full of sarcasm. Instead it reads ‘ _Dude, I think you broke Stiles. He’s been sitting in the same spot for half an hour and hasn’t said one word. What did you do?_ ’ Derek finds himself grinning when he replies only ‘ _gray whales._ ’ He doesn’t receive anything back.

Cora asks Derek for Stiles’ cell phone number at lunch on Sunday, saying she wants to see him before she leaves. He checks with Stiles before texting it to her, though the kid has no problem with it. Cora announces that Stiles is coming along to the airport when she flies out in a couple of hours before disappearing into the back room of the bookstore. The new hire goes to retrieve a book on hold for someone an hour later and returns to the register utterly confused as to why there’s a pretty brunette at Derek’s desk.

Cora gets in her goodbyes with the pack before Derek closes the bookstore, hugging each of them individually and saying she’ll see them for Thanksgiving. Stiles is waiting outside of the apartment when they arrive back, phone pressed to his ear. Derek offers him a hand, pulling him to his feet while his sister unlocks the door. Stiles presses a quick kiss to his cheek and tells whoever he’s talking to on the phone that he loves them and that he’s putting a package in the mail for them tomorrow.

During the drive to the airport, Cora asks Stiles if he’ll be in town for Thanksgiving or if he’s going back Beacon Hills. Derek catches Stiles frowning in the rearview mirror as he says California because he doesn’t get to see his parents except on holidays. Cora must realize his discomfort in her knowing where he’s from because she turns around and tells him that sucks but not to worry because come January they’ll have plenty of time to hang out when she moves to Seattle. Stiles chuckles and says their future hangouts will be epic.

Derek ruffles Cora’s hair after hugging her in front of the security line in the airport terminal. She swats at him, calling him a douche as Stiles laughs. She turns to Stiles then, pointing as she tells him to take care of her idiot big bro; Stiles just nods. Cora simply says ‘ _good_ ’, hugs him briefly, and tells them she’ll see their loser asses later. She turns around when she is rounds the first turn in the line, points at Derek, and wishes him an early happy birthday before the person behind her huffs.

Stiles has a questioning look on his face as they walk back to the garage. ‘ _I turn thirty tomorrow_ ’ Derek finally says when they’re in the Camaro. Stiles asks if he has anything planned and Derek shrugs. Usually it’s dinner out with friends or Cora, if his birthday happens to fall during her fall break like it has the past two years. He figures that once he knows if there are finite plans he can call Stiles and invite him then.

By the time they arrive back at Derek’s apartment, it’s already nine. Stiles stalls with his keys in his hand, saying he’ll talk to Derek sometime tomorrow. Derek inclines his head and asks if Stiles wants to come upstairs. Stiles shakes his head no, solemnly smiling. ‘ _I’d love to, really I would. But I have to be at work super early tomorrow._ ’

Derek nods, holding a hand out and curling a finger at Stiles. Stiles allows himself to be pulled into Derek’s arms, his own pressed against Derek’s chest. They stand there hugging in the middle of the parking lot for who knows how long, Stiles’ face tucked into the crook of Derek’s neck. Stiles presses one kiss to the smooth skin just below his beard, drawing away from the embrace. When Derek kisses him he reciprocates it, instantly but brief.

' _I’ll call you tomorrow, Der, I promise, but I need to get home. I was supposed to call my dad half an hour ago._ ’ Derek presses one last kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. The kid slips out of his grip, slotting his keys between his fingers as he turns around to walk towards the Jeep. He smiles from behind the steering wheel, waving as Derek watches.

Something’s wrong. 

Distractedly, Derek heads inside. Laura calls him as he walks into the apartment, apologizing for how late it is. Apparently she was in court for most of the night fighting to get a little girl taken away from her abusive aunt, after which she had to drive the girl across the city to a temporary foster home. He tries to tell his sister that he doesn’t want to talk but he can hear it in her tone that she’s in one of her post-court highs where she needs to speak to someone until the adrenaline is out of her system.

By the middle of the conversation, the anxiety in her voice has toned down enough that she begins to press him about Stiles. Derek tries to change the subject, instead asking who Laura plans on spending Thanksgiving with. His sister calls him on avoiding the subject, saying ‘ _you do know that if I hadn’t talked Cora into getting you that thing, you’d still be desperately single. I’ll take my thank you any day now._ ’ Derek hangs up on her as she cackles over the speaker.

\- - -

Derek wakes up to his phone buzzing beneath his pillow, having shoved it there so the alarm wouldn’t rattle against the nightstand. Peter’s sent him a text message that is surprisingly composed for being the morning which means his uncle has already started drinking or it’s afternoon on the East coast. He squints at the screen, trying to make sense of what he can see of the message. According to Peter, turning thirty means he should start his day off with a mimosa.

Derek checks the time on his watch, turning his wrist over and frowning. He technically doesn’t need to be awake for another two hours: Erica, Isaac, and Boyd force him to come in late every year if his birthday falls on a weekday. Another text message rings through, another from his uncle. Two more follow even after he shoves his head under his pillow, so he stands, throws the covers back on the bed, and roots around in his dresser for a pair of sweatpants.

As he walks down the hall and passes the spare bedroom he notices a card, small box, and bag sitting in the middle of the bed. It’s in Cora’s handwriting, a short apology written on the back of the envelope for not being able to be there on her only big bro’s birthday. Derek should have noticed it last night but he was more focused on the way Stiles looked when he drove away.

When he arrives at work, Erica is sitting at the register ringing someone out. Boyd and Isaac are nowhere to be seen but Derek can hear footsteps on the second floor. As soon as the customer leaves the shop, the blonde hops over the counter and hugs him tightly. When he doesn’t pull away, she lets go, head tilted to one side, eyes focused. She squints, uses a finger to turn his head, and snorts.

“Boyd! Isaac! Get down here! Something’s wrong with Derek!”

Derek has such wonderful friends. Isaac and Boyd lumber down the stairs slowly, eyes following the where Erica’s finger is pointed. They both looked concerned but Derek rolls his eyes; his problems are not theirs. Erica pokes him in the nose and he bites at her, snapping his teeth. Isaac grins while Boyd shakes his head.

“Ready to have a midlife crisis now that you’re over the hill, Der bear?” Erica questions, grinning with all her teeth.

Derek frowns and heads toward the backroom, the blonde’s effervescent laughter following him.

The store is a little packed with the four of them there. At most, Derek will have two other people in the shop, but a fourth leaves them each with little do after they knock out stocking new books and inventorying the shelves of miscellaneous extra copies in the storage room. The new hire comes in for his afternoon shift only for Erica to send him away.

Boyd kicks Derek out a little after five with instructions to be at a restaurant on the waterfront of Puget Sound at seven thirty sharp. Derek looks up the menu when he gets home, phone pressed to his ear as he flips through the pdf. Stiles’ phone rolls over to voicemail and Derek passes the invitation along, assuring Stiles he doesn’t have to come if he’s not ready to meet the ~~pack~~ rest of his friends. When he doesn’t hear anything by six forty-five he sends Scott a text asking if his best friend is alright. All he receives in return is a question mark.

Derek debates calling him again on the drive to the restaurant but decides against it. Maybe he’s feeling weird about the night before or meeting Cora; maybe he thinks Derek didn’t want to invite him to spend his birthday together. Once he’s parked the Camaro in the parking lot of the restaurant, Derek stares the screen of his phone, willing it to light up before heading inside. 

The hostess at the entrance to the restaurant directs him towards the kitchen upon a description of his friends with a dismissive wave and mirthless smile. He finds the table quite easily: it’s the largest in this section of the restaurant, backed against a wall of windows overlooking the water. Around it are the people he considers family but also Lydia, Scott, and Stiles. His lawyer seems to notice him first, simpering as she takes a long sip of wine.

“Derek!” Isaac yells as he turns around in his seat, Scott’s and Stiles’ eyes following.

Derek rounds the table, pulls the only vacant chair out, and sits down. Stiles is watching him patiently, looking nervous. The rest of his friends greet him before Derek has a chance to ask Stiles “what are you doing here?” Stiles fixes him with a glare and Derek backtracks.

“Not that I don’t want you here, but I called you. When I got off work. I left you a voicemail. And I texted Scott.” Derek takes a sip of his water, balling his other hand into a fist in his lap. “Your Jeep wasn’t outside either.”

“Cora called me this morning on my way to work,” Stiles replies, knotting the wrapper from his straw. “She figured you conveniently forgot to tell me it was your birthday based on how confused I looked when we left the airport last night.”

Across the table Erica pauses her conversation with Boyd and nudges Lydia. Derek turns away from Stiles to glare at them both. The lawyer and blonde shrug in unison and return to their own conversations.

“It’s not-, my birthday isn’t a big deal. This is how it goes every year.”

“Yeah, well clearly you haven’t realized I may have wanted to spend it with you.”

Derek flinches and Stiles winkles his nose. “I didn’t think you’d want to be forced into hanging out with people you don’t know.”

“I met your _sister_ , Derek, I think it’s safe to say I wanted to meet your friends.” There’s an edge of irritation in his tone that makes Derek feel immensely guilty. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Derek catches Scott watching him critically, only half paying attention to whatever Isaac is going on about. Stiles tosses his straw wrapper across the tablecloth at Isaac’s plate.

“Stiles,” he starts and Stiles sighs. Talking about this now in front of their mixture of friends isn’t going to make things better so Derek settles on apologizing. “I am sorry. I really am glad you’re here.”

“Uh huh,” is the response.

"Stiles." Derek lifts Stiles' chin from where he’s staring down at the menu open in front of him. Stiles meets his eyes hesitantly, blush high on his cheeks. “I mean it.” He leans forward, brings their lips together briefly in a short kiss. Stiles’ eyelids flutter shut and he slides his hand into Derek’s beneath the table.

Someone coughs and Derek pulls away from the kiss. Their waiter is standing at the end of the table Scott is seated at, expression flat as the group snickers. Stiles withdraws his hand to scratch at his neck.

“Can I get you anything to drink, sir?” Isaac’s declaring shots all around before Derek can ask for just a water and the waiter nods tersely. “I’ll get those out to you in a few minutes while you finish looking at the menu.”

The amount of food they eventually order is obscene considering the number of people at their table. Derek’s always known that Erica can pack in more food than her figure suggests and if living with Isaac taught him anything, it’s that he can eat half his weight in carbs and still be hungry. Boyd’s more a grazer than anything, like Derek. Scott and Stiles on the other hand act like it’s a competition as to who can consume the most at the fastest rate.

Against all odds, the conversation between Stiles and the rest of Derek’s friends runs smoothly. They’re interested in what it’s like working for Amazon and want to know the weirdest things people ask for help with. Stiles laughs and recalls stories for them, elbowing Derek when he tells them about some idiot who asked for help opening pdfs. At some point Stiles is drawn into conversation with Scott and Isaac while Erica preoccupies Boyd with picking stay pieces of rice off his plate. Lydia, who has been quiet for most of dinner, wipes her mouth before resting her chin on her hands.

“What?” Derek asks, feeling scrutinized under her gaze.

“Nothing, Hale, nothing at all.” 

The lawyer taps Isaac on the shoulder, hand on his arm as she whispers something in his ear. Isaac nods, beaming when he leans over to kiss her cheek. To Derek’s right, Stiles sputters into his water while Scott laughs.

“You two are together?” He asks, hand on his chest as he coughs.

Lydia rolls her eyes when Isaac grins and drapes an arm across her shoulders. Derek smirks when she pushes him away and turns to Erica to discuss her wedding planning. Stiles is still kind of gaping when Derek squeezes his hand underneath their armrests.

The waiter kicks them out at nine with a forced ‘ _have a happy birthday, sir_ ’ and a handful of mints. Erica pulls Derek into a hug and says she’ll see him tomorrow afternoon. Boyd shakes his hand and offers a silent wave to Stiles, turning on his heel to follow his fiancé. Lydia smirks and slips her hand into Isaac’s, offering goodbyes and ‘ _nice to meet yous_ ’ to both Stiles and Scott.

“We should probably go too, bro, I’ve gotta be at work by six tomorrow. Derek,” Scott says, extending a hand, “happy birthday, man.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Derek replies, shifting the stack of birthday cards under his armpit to shake Scott’s hand. “And thanks for coming.”

“My pleasure. Stiles, I’ll meet you at the car, alright?”

Stiles nods, rocking back on his heels as his best friend waves goodbye. Derek runs a hand through his hair, watching the kid’s cheeks tint pink. When he looks up from his feet, he smiles.

“I’m sorry I didn’t invite you sooner,” Derek apologizes, ringing his free hand around his wrist. “I know I should have mentioned it earlier but this, you and me, Stiles; I don’t want to ruin it. My friends, they’re-”

“They’re protective of you, I get it. Do we need to revisit you meeting Scott?” Stiles adjusts his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “I’m happy they are. It shows how much they care about you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“S’okay, Der, really. Just, talk me next time, alright?” Derek nods and Stiles leans forward into his space. “But if you are still feeling guilty, maybe you should invite me home with you.”

Derek glances up from ground to see Stiles grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you have to go to work tomorrow?”

“Not until two. If you can give me a ride to your bookstore in the morning I’ll have Scott come pick me up when he takes a break around ten and just go in early.”

“You sure?”

Stiles nods, still grinning. “Just let me go tell Scott what’s up and grab my bag from his car.”

“You had this planned?” Derek asks and Stiles just kisses him before scampering off. 

He returns with a backpack, throwing his head over his shoulder as he says, “le’s go.”

The air is electrified as Derek drives them home, the sounds of the Camaro purring around the exit off the interstate only drowned out by whatever radio station Stiles has switched on. There’s no allusion to what is going to happen, none whatsoever based on the way they exchange glances at the last few stoplights. The moment the Camaro’s parked along the side of Derek’s building, Stiles slips out of the car with his backpack already on. Derek grabs the cards his friends gave him and rushes to follow.

The elevator ride to his floor is unnervingly slow. Derek can feel his skin buzzing with the need to touch Stiles, to kiss him senseless. Stiles seems to be harboring the same desires because the moment they’re inside the apartment, he pulls Derek into a kiss. The birthday cards fall to the ground as Derek pushes him up against the door, fumbling to lock it before getting his hands on Stiles. The kid moans and tugs at Derek’s hair. There’s no hesitation when he slides his hands around the back of Stiles’ thighs, applying pressure. Stiles pulls away, mouth slack when he asks “seriously?”

Derek lifts him up and Stiles mumbles "fuck”, rocking his hips down as he wraps his legs around Derek’s waist. Stiles’ hands scramble to push his leather jacket off, his shirt following. Derek just nips at Stiles’ neck, careful not to leave any marks the same size as last time, and low enough they can be hidden beneath his shirt. Stiles sinks his fingers into Derek’s back, shuddering as he grinds down. 

Another keen later and Stiles is lifting Derek’s chin away from his neck, fervently repeating “bedroom, bedroom, c’mon, Derek, bedroom. We’re not doing to this against the door, Derek, _Derek_ , please.” Derek obliges and starts off towards his bedroom. He chokes out “maybe not this time” as Stiles divests himself of his shirt, nimble fingers working at both their belts. When Stiles looks up from his ministrations, his eyes are full of desire.

They shed the rest of their clothes the moment Derek sets Stiles down, frantically kissing. Stiles discards his glasses on the nightstand, tugging Derek down with him as he lies back across the comforter. Derek wishes he would have flipped the light switch on when Stiles gazes up at him, hands flattened against his chest; there’s some light coming through the window above the bed, but it just barely helps. Derek drops to his elbows, bracketed around Stiles, rolling his hips forward tentatively. Stiles just smirks.

The touches that follow are slower than the initial frenetic kisses against the door. Stiles slips a spit slick hand between their stomachs, circling his fingers around both their cocks. Derek drags his free hand, the one not supporting his weight against the pillows, across Stiles' chest, grazing over his nipples and through the scant hair. He circles his navel, nails scratching the skin lightly, and Stiles shudders. When he repeats the motion, Stiles squirms, laughter spilling from between his lips. Derek kisses him as he tries to wiggle away, batting playfully at his hand.

The laughing fit only lasts so long though, ending with a hitch in Stiles’ voice when Derek wraps his hand around Stiles’. From there on, it’s all shameless rutting and fucking into the tight grip of Stiles’ fist. The kid is surprisingly quieter than Derek imagined, letting out broken whimpers and strained moans only every so often. As the heat begins to pool in Derek’s gut, he lifts himself up enough to reach the drawer in his nightstand. Stiles follows, sucking his own bruises into Derek’s neck.

Once he retrieves the bottle of lube he bought a couple of days before Cora arrived, he pops the cap. Stiles turns his head when he hears it snick, a devious smile coming across his lips. He manages to flip Derek on his back in one fluid movement, straddling his thighs. Derek’s eyes flit over Stiles' torso, from the dusky pink color of his nipples to the maroon bruises blossoming on his collarbone to the flushed head of his cock. It’s wet at the tip, oozing drops of pre-come.

Derek squirts some of the lube on his fingers, tossing the bottle on the floor before sitting up and wrapping a hand around Stiles’ cock. Stiles mewls and pistons his hips forward, kissing Derek filthily. He wraps one hand around Derek’s cock and tangles the other in his hair.

It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. Stiles is making delicious noises, so far gone his kisses have been reduced to harsh panting against Derek’s lips. Derek mouths at his chin, fingers not wrapped around Stiles’ cock skimming down his back and between the swell of his ass. All it takes is the blunt pressure of two fingers against his hole and Stiles comes with a groan through clenched teeth. Derek follows suit when Stiles drags his fingers through his own come, splattered across Derek’s abdomen, and jerks him off with quick flicks of his wrist.

When they’ve come down from their highs, sated and boneless, Stiles lifts his head from where it is resting on Derek’s shoulder in search of a clock. He reads the time from the blue glow next to the bed, just past ten, and says “we should really work on making that last more than fifteen minutes.” Derek bites his collarbone as Stiles shakes with laughter. He shouts when Derek stands, carrying him the same way he did from the foyer to the bedroom, and walks towards the open door of the bathroom.

”I hope you know how ridiculous it is that you can do that,” Stiles says when Derek sets him down to turn the shower on. “Seriously, dude.”

Derek crouches to pull two towels from beneath the sink, wincing at the way the drying come on his stomach is beginning to itch. “Wall sex though,” Stiles muses and Derek throws the towels at his face.

The subsequent shower is filled with blushing, admittedly stupid grinning, and scrubbing the come off their skin. Stiles makes a noise akin to a yelp when Derek turns around in the shower to grab his shampoo, hands positioned in front of his chest like he’s eager to touch. It’s then that Derek remembers Stiles has never seen his tattoo, the black triskele spanning most of the skin between his shoulder blades.

“I didn’t know you had this,” he says, tracing the edges as Derek dips his head under the showerhead. “It’s a triskele, right?”

"Yeah,” Derek replies, wiping water from his eyes.

“What’s its significance? I mean, historically I know what they stand for, but there’s one on the sign above the entrance to your bookstore.”

“I’m surprised to you noticed it,” Derek says, squirting some of his shampoo into his hand. He dumps it on Stiles’ hair, smirking as Stiles grimaces. “Most people think it’s just an extension of the n.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tucked it inside the upward curl,” Stiles chides, batting Derek’s hands away. “Cora has one too, though. I saw it on the inside of her wrist.”

“Did she show you?” Because Cora is not in the habit of showing people. Pretty much ever.

“No, I saw it when she took off her watch at the aquarium. After,” he pauses to wash away the suds of shampoo, “after we poked around the touch pools.”

“And you didn’t ask her what hers meant?”

“Nope. Switch places with me, you’re getting all the warm water.” Derek does, smiling at the way Stiles slicks his hair back with conditioner. “I kind of forgot about it until just now.”

“I’ll tell you one day when we’re not naked and the water isn’t going cold.”

“See why I wanted to switch places with you?”

Derek pushes Stiles under the spray and kisses him, turning the knob to cold. Stiles bites his lip between his teeth and mutters “asshole”. Once they’ve dried off, Stiles steals a shirt to sleep in from Derek’s closet, pulls his boxers back on, and crawls under the covers while Derek retrieves their phones from their discarded jackets in the hallway. He places both on the nightstand closest to Stiles, turns off the light in the adjoining bathroom, and slips into bed.

“Happy birthday, Derek,” Stiles says, kissing him softly before rolling on his other side so his back is pressed against Derek’s front.

Derek watches him gradually relax, realizing that Stiles is not only the first person he’s shared a bed with in over five years, but the first and only person he’s never had reservations about doing so with. He thinks about what Cora said in the Camaro after they left the aquarium and the look Lydia gave him at dinner. He now realizes it was very similar to her _I’ve got you where I want you_ look, like she saw something between them that Derek couldn’t see. But now, lying in bed with Stiles, he thinks he can see it too.

Derek’s eyelids grow heavy and he falls from consciousness thinking that yeah, he can see himself falling in love with Stiles too.

\- - -

A couple of weeks later, Derek is awoken by his phone ringing at two thirty in the morning on a Friday. He groans, fumbling around in the dark until he can silence its vibrations against the nightstand. He doesn’t even check the caller ID, just swipes the screen in hopes he catches the green arrow symbol.

“Hello?” he asks, voice gritty with sleep.

“Derek? Shit, I’m sorry, I figured you’d be asleep but I thought I’d try.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, it’s me, buddy,” Stiles sighs. “Uh, go back to sleep, Der, it’s not important.”

“You wouldn’t call me in the dead of night if it wasn’t,” Derek mumbles, lifting his head from the pillow, rolling onto his back and wiping at his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just-” Stiles groans and wow, Derek blames his incoherent state for thinking how sexy it is. “So, you know I hate working night shifts, right? Well this new manager Finstock hired sent me home because we had too many tech advisors for the amount of calls we’re getting and I was only there trying to get some comp time before Thanksgiving anyways, and it would have been fine, but the Jeep’s battery finally kicked it and Scott’s back in California for Mel’s birthday and I was basically wondering if I could come crash at your place since cab fare there will be a lot cheaper that trying to go back to my apartment?”

It takes a few seconds for Derek to process everything but in the end he says “sure, how long do you think it will take you to get here?”

“Twenty minutes tops, I just need to go flag down a taxi.”

“M’kay, call me when you get here.”

“’Kay, see you soon.”

Derek forces himself out of bed, body protesting in pursuit of falling back asleep, and walks to the living room to slump down in the recliner. His phone buzzes right as he’s about to drift off again and he silences it, yawning as he approaches the front door to unlock it. A moment later Stiles is knocking.

“Hey,” he manages as Stiles steps inside.

“Hey, I am sooo sorry, Der, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Derek just shrugs, holding a hand out for Stiles to grab as he walks back to his room. He crawls back under the covers, faintly hearing Stiles undressing. Stiles turns the lamp off when he’s done, pulling the comforter back and slipping beneath it. He snuggles himself against Derek’s back, kisses his shoulder, and thanks him again as he drapes an arm across his stomach.

The alarm on Derek’s phone goes off at seven and he reaches over Stiles to silence it as quietly as possible. Stiles barely reacts, just buries deeper underneath the covers, and Derek decides to leave him be. He gets dressed and makes breakfast, returning to his bedroom to check on Stiles when he’s ready to leave. The kid has migrated over to Derek’s side of the bed, body hidden beneath a mound of covers.

Derek doesn’t think twice about what he does next. He walks into his office, pulls the middle right drawer of his desk out, and rummages through the various things inside until he finds a spare key to the apartment. On a post-it note he scribbles ‘ _in case you leave, please lock the door. if not i’ll come get you during lunch and we’ll go jump your car. -d._ ’ He tapes the key to the paper, returns to his room, and leaves the note on top of Stiles’ phone, hoping he doesn’t knock it on the floor when he wakes up.

Stiles comes wandering into the bookstore around eleven, wearing a shirt he definitely stole from Derek’s closet and a smile that could rival the sun. Derek looks up from his laptop as the door to the storage room swings open, grinning as he sets his pen down. Stiles offers him a cup of coffee, placing his own down on top of several invoices.

“Hey.”

“I take it you found my note,” Derek says, taking a sip of his coffee. Somehow Stiles has already memorized his order at the coffee shop next door and Derek doesn’t know what to think about that. Stiles nods, walking around the desk to perch himself on the edge. “And you completely ignored the part at the bottom?”

“It seemed kind of pointless for you to drive northwest to come get me and then double back. So here I am, bearing gifts.”

“How kind.”

Stiles chuckles, dipping his head down to kiss Derek’s chin. “Oh! Let me give you your key back before I forget or it gets lost in the washing machine.”

“That’s okay,” Derek says, holding a hand out to prevent Stiles from retrieving it from his pocket.

Stiles sort of freezes and Derek watches his Adam’s apple bob. “You’re giving me a key?”

“Might as well, your jeep’s a piece of crap,” Derek smirks as Stiles frowns, “and as much as I like having you in my bed, I rather not have wake up at three to let you in.”

“I said I was sorry, Der, this is apology coffee.” Stiles grimaces, glancing down at his lap. Derek just smiles and presses his face to the kid’s neck. “You really want me to keep it?”

“Sure.”

Stiles laughs, turning around to move his coffee onto the shelf of bookshelf behind Derek’s desk.

“You’re giving me a key,” he states, leaning over the notepad Derek’s been scribbling down numbers on, palm flattened against the paper.

“I know.”

“You’re giving me a _key_.” Stiles is standing now, hands wrapped around the armrests of Derek’s chair and body hovered over his.

Derek shrugs indifferently, smirking when Stiles straddles his lap. Part of his brain is throwing up stop signs left and right, declaring it _way_ too early to be placing this amount of trust in someone he’s been dating for less than two months. Inherently Derek knows - _knows_ \- that portion of his psyche is correct: he is rushing things. His memories remind him this pace of a relationship is just like what it was like with Kate and Derek doesn’t have the naivety of age on his side this time.

But the other parts, the ones that told him to trust his instincts back during the summer, the ones that told him Stiles deserved to hear the truth about the fire, the ones that are itching beneath his skin at this very moment; those keep fueling the fact that he’s rapidly falling in love with Stiles. And, he thinks as Stiles slides his fingers through Derek’s hair and pulls him into a filthy kiss, Stiles is falling a bit in love with him as well.

Cora calls him during the drive home several hours later, partially to make sure he’ll still be able to pick her up from the airport the night before Thanksgiving but mostly to get an update on how things are going with Stiles. When he tells her he gave the kid a key, Cora just snorts. There’s no follow up comment, no ‘ _are you sure, Dee?_ ’ She just segues on to how the kids in her ecology lab complained about having to go into the woods for their lab period.

He keeps expecting her to warn him against investing so much so quickly, because she’s more informed on his relationship with Stiles than anyone, but she doesn’t bring it up again.

And that has to stand for something, right?

\- - -

True to his sister’s prediction, Derek tells Stiles he loves him just over a month and one week after his birthday. It’s the week of Thanksgiving, and while Derek will be staying in Seattle and cooking dinner with his makeshift family at Erica and Boyd’s, Stiles and Scott will be heading home for a couple of days. Stiles texts him around noon on the Monday before he leaves, asking Derek to come over so he can see his pretty face before he’s deprived of it for four days.

When Derek exits the staircase on the floor of Stiles’ apartment, he can hear a loud distorted noise coming from the far end of the hall. He quickly realizes that it’s music, a [song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_H77Ledl_I) he actually recognizes because Stiles kept humming it when they went to the farmers market last Sunday. He knocks before opening the door and the music hits his ears four fold.

Its source is the living room and that’s the direction Derek heads after locking the door. He finds Stiles and Scott both standing on the couch, jumping on the cushions as they sing off key. There is a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels lying precariously on the coffee table, two shot glasses next to it upside down. They rattle and clink against the fifth of whiskey, leaving wet circles as they move.

Scott’s yelling then, hands thrown above his head as the chorus decrescendos into the refrain. He barely makes it into the occasional chair, swaying with the music as Stiles watches in a laughing fit. When he finally notices Derek, it’s the last repeat of the chorus. Stiles is all sloppy grins and hazy eyes.

“Every day we just go go, baby don’t go,” he sings, pointing a finger at Derek. “Don’t you worry, we love you more than you know!”

Scott’s laughing at him, shakily standing. The song begins to fade out when Stiles drops his hand, turning to the television where Pandora is queuing up the next song. And then it happens.

“I love you.” 

That’s it. That’s all he says. Stiles stops swaying to the beat of the new song, going stock still. Scott’s all childish snickers, collapsed in the chair with his hands around his stomach. Derek’s heart is in his throat, eyes locked with Stiles’.

“You what?”

Stiles steps onto the coffee table, like Derek has seen him do a dozen times before, even when he was sick, but this time it gives under his weight. The moment he places his left foot down to gain his balance the legs on one side buckle and splinter and Stiles goes tumbling down. That sends Scott into another fit of uproarious laughter, to the point he’s crying. Stiles just moans and sits up, rubbing the back of his head where it collided with the couch on the way down.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, crouching down next to the remnants of one of the legs, righting the bottle of Jack.

“Oh yeah, I’m just dandy, babe. I was just working on mastering the art of embarrassing myself in front of my bestie and my boyfriend. It’s cool.” Stiles crookedly grins, squirming away from the table. “Sorry, I'm a little bit drunk.”

“I think you both are.” Derek looks over at Scott. The kid is just beaming at them, toothy grin in place. “Let’s get you cleaned up and throw away the table.”

“No!” Scott wails, sliding down off his chair to wrap his arms around one of the still attached legs. “Stiles and I have had this thing since we were sophomores. It’s like the first thing we bought when we moved off campus.”

Scott starts humming a dirge that sounds vaguely like a song from _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and Stiles laughs. Derek pulls him to his feet and helps him to his room to change, leaving Scott to his mourning. Stiles pulls Derek down onto the bed to kiss him and Derek concedes because really, making out with Stiles will never be a hardship. Stiles occupies him with kisses and dinner as he sobers up, Scott leaving for his last shift of the week around nine. They don’t bring up what Derek confessed but when Stiles kisses him goodnight in the doorway to his apartment, it’s a little longer, a little more intense than the silly kisses they shared earlier.

Stiles says the words back when they’re in the middle of Ikea the next night. Derek felt bad about contributing to the “beginning of the end” as Scott called it and since Stiles flies out in the morning, Derek wanted to replace the table before he left. He’s reading the dimensions of one with drawers - the roommates are always leaving things on the table and at least this way, nothing else will suffer the plight of spilled whiskey - when he hears it.

“I love you too,” Stiles announces, voice soft. “Just so you know.”

Derek finishes scribbling the coordinating piece numbers on a pad of paper before looking up. Flushed across his cheeks, accentuated even more because of the lighting over the display, Stiles is fidgeting, switching his weight from one foot to the other as he rocks back and forth. He offers a small smile, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t mean it,” Derek says, tucking the pad and pencil into the back pocket of his jeans. “I didn’t mean to freak you out yesterday.”

“Oh no,” Stiles laughs, grinning now in earnest, “I’m pretty sure I’ve been kind of in love with you since you let me give you the Clap.”

There’s a choking noise from across the table and both Derek and Stiles turn towards an older couple. The woman is glaring at them with a scrutinizing purse of lips and the man looks like he just witnessed a murder. Stiles bursts into laughter causing Derek to as well. They make the couple uncomfortable enough they walk off and Stiles steps forward into Derek’s space, wrapping one arm around his waist so they can continue browsing.

“That was back in February, Stiles,” Derek says as they round the corner into a room full of chairs.

“I know.” Stiles bites the shoulder of his jacket and nudges Derek in the ribs when he rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe not way back then, but definitely before I met Cora. And Isaac.” Stiles pauses them in front of a wheeled chair, spinning it with his free hand. “And definitely before you told me you lived in Seattle and you showed up at my door when I was delirious with fever.”

“All the way back then, huh.”

Derek grins as Stiles shakes his head, tightening the arm around his side. They pass through the room with beds without stopping, although Stiles does smirk when he sees the older couple they scared off bickering over a bin of duvet covers. Derek kisses him for effect when they look over.

“Cora thinks you’ve been in love with me since May,” Stiles says as they walk down the stairs to the ground floor.

“You talk to Cora?”

“Yeah, I-, I hope that’s okay?”

“It’s fine, Stiles, I just didn’t know. She hasn’t said anything.”

“Oh, well, I mean it’s only been a couple of times since your birthday, but Cora’s cool. She tells me lots of embarrassing things about you like that fact that your Kindle is named Sir Leopardus _and_ that you wouldn’t let her borrow it back in May.” Stiles chuckles, pushing his nose against Derek’s cheek. “That’s how she knew.”

“Oh god.”

Derek puts his face in his hand, knowing his neck and ears are going red. Stiles just laughs at him, steering them around the displays in the middle of the aisle as they pass the kitchen supplies. Before Derek realizes it they’re in the warehouse looking portion of the store.

“So,” Stiles says, pulling them over into the first aisle to the right, “since we confessed our love and all that jazz, wanna go make out behind those cabinets?”

And because Derek is happy, happy because Stiles loves him too, happy because Stiles doesn’t seem to find their relationship moving too quickly, _happy_ because six months ago, he didn’t think he would ever get to have this, he agrees. For a few stolen minutes, they get privacy at the end of the aisle no one seems to be interested walking down. Stiles has Derek pressed up against one of the metal shelving supports when they’re interrupted by an Ikea employee.

“Do you two need help finding anything today? I noticed you didn’t have a cart and we can gather everything you want to purchase for you if you need,” she says, not letting the fact Derek has one hand in Stiles’ hair and the other on his ass deter her. “All I would require is your list of items.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, doesn’t it Der?” Stiles is grinning as he slips a hand into Derek’s back pocket to retrieve the list. He rips it from the pad and hands it to her. “We can meet you up front at check out, right?”

“Yes,” she nods, head tilted as she smiles. “Just give me a few minutes and I will have everything ready.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

The employee nods, walking down to aisle until she reaches the center aisle. Stiles snorts and burst into laughter as Derek rests his head against his shoulder, sure his face is red. Stiles just hugs him around the neck, filling the air around them with laughter.

Once they have paid and loaded everything into the trunk of the Jeep, Stiles pulls Derek with him as he closes the door with his back.

“I love you,” he says against Derek’s lips.

“I love you too.”

When they get back to Stiles’ apartment and have carried everything upstairs, Stiles drags Derek into his room. Despite the fact that Scott is also home and probably looking for a screwdriver to build the coffee table, Stiles backs Derek onto his bed, dropping to his knees. What follows is the best blowjob Derek has even been lucky to receive. He reciprocates it with his mouth and his hands, manages to get two fingers inside Stiles before he comes with a shout.

Scott refuses to look at them when they walk back into the living room later, clearly put off by how they must be grinning stupidly at one another.

“You two have no shame,” he says, Allen wrench between his teeth.

“Just you wait until we actually start fucking each other, Scotty,” Stiles retorts, slouching against the couch with the building instructions in his hand. “Then you will be happy it was just blowjobs.”

Derek hides his face in Stiles' shoulder and listens to Scott groan.

\- - -

Thanksgiving comes and goes without incident. Derek spends the day with his patchwork family and it’s just like every other year since Derek moved to Seattle, except this time when Lydia arrives, it’s _with_ Isaac instead of alone. That night when Derek calls Stiles on Skype, he briefly gets introduced to Melissa and the Sheriff before Scott steals the laptop and tells Derek Stiles has to help wash dishes and will call him tomorrow.

Black Friday is a rush of people in and out of the bookstore, the entire district a flurry of people shopping. The weekend is just as busy and Derek works one of his few Saturday shifts of the year. His employees, including whatsherface and the new hire, are exhausted by the time Monday comes.

But things are good, great even. The shop brings in a lot more money this year than they did the year before and the stress of not breaking even for the season is lifted off his shoulders. Laura praises him for not going under for another year.

Derek makes progress on other fronts too. The first time he and Stiles take things past where they’ve been comfortable in bed, it’s a bit awkward and even more messy. But it’s them: Stiles laughs through parts of it, Derek hides his face against Stiles’ neck from being self-conscious, and it’s nothing like what they imagined it being. Instead it’s perfectly imperfect, and when Derek comes, it’s buried inside Stiles as the kid clenches around him, still riding the high of his own orgasm.

Life is good up until the third week of December. With Christmas looming on the horizon, the bookstore is busy filling odd requests for out of print books and keeping up with the last round of new releases before the holiday. Derek comes home late on a Wednesday night to find Stiles in his living room pacing. It’s not the first time he's let himself into the apartment and it won’t be the last.

“Hey,” Stiles greets, balling his fingers in the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

“Hi.” Derek hangs him coat up before approaching Stiles.

“Um, can we talk about something?” Derek must look apprehensive because a moment later Stiles is waving his hands in front of his chest. “No, Der, it’s not bad. It’s not one of those ‘we need to talk’ talks.”

“Okay.”

Stiles sits down on the couch, patting the cushion next to it. Derek does as asked, heart racing in his chest. The silence overwhelms him until Stiles sighs.

“Scott’s moving back to Beacon Hills,” he says forlornly.

“When?”

“Next month, I think. When we were home, he and Allison talked about finally getting engaged. Scott picked out the ring like, back in April, and he’s been planning on asking her for a while, but he couldn’t afford it until we got our yearly bonuses. He’s going to ask her when he goes back for New Year’s.”

“That’s good though, right? He said he hates being this far away from her.”

“Yeah, yeah, no, it’s great. I love Allison and I’m super happy for her and Scott, but there’s just one problem.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Stiles runs a hand through his hair, mussing it to one side. “I can’t afford my apartment without him.”

“Oh.” Derek watches Stiles' eyes flick across his face several times. “So you have to move?”

“Yep and that’s what I want to talk to you about. I know you said Cora was going to come spend a few days here after the new year to look for apartments, right?”

Derek nods his head. “Did you want me to ask her if she wants to share an apartment?”

Stiles snorts, “I highly doubt she’d enjoy living with the person her big bro’s sleeping with.”

“True.”

“Very, which is why I wanted to talk to you about this now.” Stiles takes one of Derek’s hands in his own, running his long fingers across the lines of his palm. “What would you say to giving Cora your apartment and you and I moving in together?”

Derek stops breathing for a moment. “Stiles-”

“Der, I know it’s quick, but, I love you. And correct me if I’m wrong, but our relationship passed the serious line a while ago, right?”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothing. Look, you don’t have to say yes. I just wanted to run the idea by you before I had to start looking for places.”

Imaging living with Stiles, sharing a place that is entirely theirs - that should be terrifying. But as Derek sits there on the couch, Stiles worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, all Derek can think about is what it would be like to wake up with him every morning. What it would be like to not have to drive across most of city to see one another. Everything sort of clicks and Derek smiles.

“Let’s do it.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, blush spreading down his neck.

“Yeah. Cora’s always loved this place and it’ll save her having to pay rent.”

“Why is that?”

“I paid it off last year.” Derek replies, leaning forward to brush his lips against Stiles’. “So let’s do it.”

\- - -

And they do. Derek calls Cora three days later, after she’s taken her comprehensive exam and she’s not on the brink of killing someone, offering her his apartment with no strings attached. She agrees to accept only if Derek promises to help her move all of her furniture. Derek tells her he planned to anyways and Cora snorts.

By the time Derek leaves for New York, he and Stiles have found an apartment halfway between the University District and where the Amazon building is located. Lydia asks, while they’re out at lunch just the two of them, why they don’t just move into a house instead. And Derek thinks on that for a while as his lawyer grins at him, imagines furnishing a home with Stiles, one with several bedrooms. He thinks about having children and yeah, someday he _does_ want that. But for now he’s content to adjusting to living with someone again.

Derek helps pack up Stiles and Scott’s apartment, jokes about the amount of stuff they have shoved into the space. Scott tears up no fewer than three times and Derek leaves him and Stiles to have a moment. Stiles spends the last two days Scott is in Seattle at home, the two of them squished on the couch with the Xbox and television still hooked up. This will be the first time they’ve been apart since they were ten and Derek tries not to interfere.

Scott hugs him after he loads the last of his boxes into his beat up old Honda. Allison is there too, but keeps her distance, leaning against the door of a rented U-Haul. Derek hugs Scott back and when they pull away, he’s surprised to see the kid crying.

“You have to promise not to let Stiles take care of the power bill because he always forgets to pay it on time,” he chokes, wiping at his eyes. “Okay? And you need to come visit in March because the Sheriff is turning fifty five.”

“Yeah,” Derek replies, shakily grinning.

“Take care of my brother, Derek. Because we’re brothers now too, by extension. Don’t let him get into it with Greenberg because Finstock is one-”

“Scott, it’s fine. We’ll be okay,” Stiles interrupts. “Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? They created facetime for a reason.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, trying to smile. “Yeah.”

Once last round of hugs is exchanged and when Scott and Allison drive away, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles, holding him while the kid breaks down in the middle of the parking lot.

It takes two days for Stiles to come around. They move everything from his apartment into their new place mostly in silence and if Stiles cries a bit, Derek doesn’t point it out, just kisses him and provides support.

Three days after that they’re both at Derek’s, packing up the spare bedroom. The office is already stowed away in boxes, as are the living room and most of the kitchen. Derek’s pulling books down off the shelves when Stiles laughs. When he turns around, Stiles is grinning at him, the ill-used as of late Kindle between his fingers.

“You know,” Stiles says, turning the tablet over in his hands, “this is actually the first time I’ve seen your Kindle.”

“I don’t really need to use it anymore. I ran out of reasons to press the Mayday button.” Derek reaches for it and Stiles hands Sir Leopardus over after he realizes it won’t turn on. Derek sets the tablet in a box filled only with the clothes Isaac always kept in the armoire. “I’m really happy you ended up being my tech advisor, Stiles.”

Stiles grins, stepping over a pile of books on the floor and draping his arms across Derek’s shoulders. Out of habit, Derek places his hands on Stiles’ sides, pressing featherlight kisses across his chin.

“Even though I called you dude the first time you called?” Derek kisses the cluster of moles along the left hinge of his jaw. “Even though I thought Cora was your girlfriend instead of your sister?”

“She still makes fun of me for that.”

“I know.” Stiles chuckles and Derek nips at a bruise he left on the kid’s neck the night before. “Even though you called so many times Finstock legitimately got you banned from using the service that led to us meeting?”

“Yes,” Derek says, lips pressed to Stiles’. “Yes to everything.”

Stiles grins so wide Derek thinks it has to hurt. It’s his _proud_ smile, so close to the smug one he uses when he bickers with Isaac at Thursday night dinner or when he and Cora are talking on the phone. Derek kisses it off him, thinking that one day, he is going to tell Cora how thankful he is for her and Laura’s meddling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest thing I've written to date and oh my god, I am ridiculously proud of that.
> 
> If you couldn't tell, I didn't want to stop writing this. It's probably a bit longer that it needs to be but I really really loved the universe I built. Originally I was going to end it after Derek shows up at Stiles' apartment, all piny and caring, but that seemed too quick once I got there.
> 
> Some things to clear up that I didn't have time to address: Derek's triskele. It's the Hale family symbol and each of the Hale siblings have it tattooed somewhere on their bodies. The swirls stand for the three of them, though Cora likes to joke that hers stands for the three laws of cell theory. Also, Stiles and marine bio. Even though I didn't really address it, Stiles and Scott both graduated from Stanford not really knowing what they wanted to do, and even now, Stiles still isn't sure. He loves working for Amazon but it's not a forever thing. So when Derek asked him if he ever considered a career in the field his mother dreamt about, the answer really was no, not just an excuse to drop the subject. Oh, and Stiles and Scott use the term mom and dad synonymously with Melissa and John/the Sheriff because it's easier and comfortable.
> 
> The last time I was in an Ikea was a couple of years ago and in a different state, but at the time they were still offering the service I described. I don't know if they still are though.
> 
> Title of the fic is from the song _Lazy Lies_ by Capital Cities.
> 
> I'll be returning to my long wip now but feel free to drop by my [tumblr](http://stayingputwouldbeablunder.tumblr.com) if you want to see me cry over Tyler Hoechlin and 3b.


End file.
